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tropes-and-tales · 2 months

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It's That Simple

Day 16: Praise Kink (Bob Floyd x F!Reader)

(For the 2023 Kinktober event that I created on my own because I am boring and basic and am trying to keep it simple this year...found here!)

CW: Light angst, kinda (Bob gets deflated); talk of panic attacks and self-doubt; smut (handjob); 18+ only.

Word Count: 5656

AN: This was requested by an anon!

AN2: If you've been around a bit, you know the drill: this isn't edited or re-read or beta'ed.

It’s another terrible first date.

Bob struggles to even snag a first date. He’s unassuming; he lacks the swagger and extroversion to stroll up to a woman and talk her up. Most of his dates are obtained from other members of the Daggers—double dates, set-ups, stuff like that.

The latest one was set up by Fanboy, a friend of his sister. Within moments of meeting his date, Bob knows it’ll be a mess: she makes a face when she greets him at the door, and it goes downhill from there.

It ends when she gets a text. An emergency, she tells him, and Bob is too smart and perceptive to buy the lie. But he’s a gentleman, so he nods seriously and offers to drive her home or wherever she’s needed, which she declines. He pays the bill of their abortive dinner, and he pretends not to notice how his date practically skips out of the restaurant and into the waiting car of a friend.

He should go home to lick his wounds. Another failed date, another night alone. He sees the stretch of his life in front of him and despairs that he’ll ever meet someone, and he should go home to sulk, but he goes to the Hard Deck instead.

He might as well break the news to Fanboy, at least, and maybe Nat can cheer him up with her usual sarcastic humor.

-----

The Hard Deck is as packed as always, and Bob—in his date clothes of dress pants and a button down shirt—stands out among the uniformed pilots and fellow wizzos. He finds the Dagger Squad, confesses his failure to Fanboy, then settles into a stool near Nat and Rooster.

Nat puts a hand on his shoulder and gives him a comforting squeeze. “I’m sorry, Bob,” she says.

“Her loss,” Rooster offers.

Bob shrugs. It’s not anyone’s loss but his, but he offers them a weak smile that fools neither of them.

It’s Hangman who sidles up to Bob, and in an uncharacteristic moment of thoughtfulness, the cocky pilot offers to be his wingman—which makes Bob laugh, and it comes out laced with some bitterness.

“No offense, Bagman, but you’d be a terrible wingman,” Bob says.

“What? Why?”

Bob lifts his hands in a helpless shrug. “Because you’re….you. And I’m not like you at all.”

“So?”

He scoffs in frustration at Bagman being so obtuse. As if any woman would look at Bob if he walked up to them with Jake at his side. It’d be like an Aston Martin rolling up alongside an old Honda Civic, and that’s the analogy he uses to make Jake understand. But Jake shakes his head, clasps him on his shoulders and gives him a friendly shake.

“Nah, Baby on Board. You got it all wrong. You just need some confidence.” Another teeth-rattling shake. “Trust me, there’s a girl out there for you. C’mon.”

Bob finds himself powerless to resist as Jake pushes him off of his stool, then shoves him gently in the direction of the crowded bar.

-----

The first pair that Jake sidles up to is a bust, but it’s not Bob’s fault: Jake had hooked up with the one woman before, forgotten about it completely. He’s moments from getting a drink tossed in his face when Bob tugs him away from the danger and they pull back, reevaluate.

The second pair is a bust too. The first woman doesn’t even let Jake get the full sentence out before she’s wagging her ring finger in his face.

“Married,” she says, her words clipped. “Move along, sailor.”

The third pair? The third pair works out. Jake hones in on one immediately, a blonde with big doe eyes, but the second one—you—rolls her eyes at him.

But when you turn to study Bob, you don’t roll your eyes. You hold out a hand, introduce yourself, ask for his rank, then pat the empty chair beside you.

“Settle in, Lieutenant,” and your smile is easy. “Let’s chat while we watch your friend strike out, huh?”

-----

It turns out you’re drunk, but that’s not necessarily a bad thing.

For one, you’ve fallen in with Bob Floyd, the most gentlemanly man a drunk, single girl could come across. He’d never take advantage, and in fact, he’ll end up driving you home at the end of the night, getting you into your apartment. He will take your shoes off of you, tuck you into your bed, and press a glass of water and a couple of ibuprofen on you before he sees himself out.

For another thing, Bob Floyd has fallen in with you, the most fiercely sweet drunk that a down-on-himself man could come across. You’re one of those loud cheerleader types when you drink; the kind of woman who chats up other women in the bathroom, who tells them they’re beautiful, that you love them. With your friend and Jake otherwise engaged, Bob finds himself caught in the tractor beam of your charm.

“You look sad,” you tell him around the rim of your glass. “Are you sad?”

You’re drunk and Bob is sad, and you’re staring at him with wide eyes that glitter in the low light of the bar, so he tells you. He tells you about his terrible date, the latest in a string of terrible dates, that he’s been single for so long and he’s not entirely convinced he’ll ever meet someone, that he’s too scrawny, that his glasses are terrible (one date called them serial killer glasses), that he’s too reserved to ever catch the eye of a woman, too unremarkable looking, let alone—

“No!” You cut him off by exclaiming it, a near-shout, and your hand finds his forearm and grips him there. “You’re gorgeous, Bill! Don’t even say you aren’t!”

He grins despite himself. “It’s Bob. But thanks. I mean, it’s nice of you to say—”

“Bob. Yes. Sorry. Bob, not Bill. I say it because it’s true.” You release your hold on his arm and sit back in your chair, your eyes narrowed now as you study him closer. You’re quiet for a long beat, and Bob squirms under your attention, but then you tell him more and he swears he breaks out in a full-body blush.

“You’re gorgeous, really,” you tell him. “It’s just that you have a sneakier handsomeness, you know? Like, that one there—” You gesture broadly at Jake. “—He’s, like, Ken-doll handsome. Like, he catches your eye because it’s all symmetrical and stuff, and he’s fine, but symmetry can be boring and someone like you, it’s sneaky. You have a nice face, and these nice blue eyes, and nice hair, and I bet people think about you after the fact like, ‘oh, that Bob guy, he’s not bad at all,’ and then even later it’s like, ‘oh, Bob, he’s pretty handsome.’ Because you’re that sneaky sort of handsome and that’s the worst damned kind.”

Bob isn’t entirely tracking what you mean, but he shakes his head at the unearned praise, and he can’t stop the smile that’s plastered on his face. He probably looks like a dope.

“Why’s that the worst kind?” he asks.

“Because it’s deadly!” You lean forward again, put your hand on his arm again. “Sneaky-handsome guys are like a virus because by the time you realize they’ve infected you, it’s too late.”

Bob chuckles. “I’m a virus? Suddenly my night has gotten worse, somehow.”

“No, not at all. It’s just…” You trail off, polish off your drink. You wave down Penny for another. “It’s just that you sneaky-handsome types never understand the power you have. Ken-doll over there knows he’s hot, and by the mere fact of him knowing he’s hot, he loses a considerable amount of hotness. But you have no idea you’re handsome, and that makes you even hotter.”

“I think there’s a string of women in the San Diego area that would disagree with your assessment,” Bob replies. “But I appreciate the compliment, nonetheless.”

“Oh, them.” You flap a hand, a dismissive wave. “There’s a lot of idiots in the world, Bob. You can’t let a string of women in the San Diego area make you feel bad.”

“I guess I just need to find someone who isn’t an idiot.”

“Ah, well!” You set your drink down and wave your hands in front of yourself in a ta-da sort of flourish. “Cal Tech graduate, Bobby. I work for NASA.”

He feels a warm flush at you calling him Bobby. “You’re a rocket scientist? Definitely not an idiot, then.”

“Astrobiologist, actually. And only an idiot sometimes, but never when it comes to the sneaky-handsome men here at the Hard Deck.”

Bob shakes his head, a little embarrassed at how much he likes you, a drunk stranger, talking him up. He tries to dial it back, afraid he’s going to fall in love before last call.

“You’re way too smart for me, then,” he tells you.

That makes you arch an eyebrow at him. “You afraid of smart women, Bobby?”

“Not at all. It’s just that smart, beautiful, and sweet? Do you understand the power you have?” He keeps his tone light, teasing, but he’s in over his head with this: he’s definitely going to fall in love before last call.

Of course he is. His question makes you laugh, a warm sound that knocks free the lump in his chest from his earlier failed date. Your laughter makes him feel drunk even though he hasn’t touched a drop; he feels warm and light and big-headed at how kind you’ve been to him, how sweet, but your laughter is the sound that makes him fall in love with you.

-----

The two of you stay until last call. Bagman and your friend disappear hours before then, and you shrug at Bob, say you called it all wrong, that you didn’t think Jake was your friend’s type.

Bob drives you home. You’re unsteady on your feet, so he hovers near you, but you manage reasonably well until it’s time to unlock your door. He watches you try it, then he reaches out and takes the keys from your hand.

It’s the first time he touches you.

He gets you inside. He gets you to your bedroom, and you flop gracelessly across the mattress, and Bob immediately goes into caretaker mode. He slides your shoes off of you, sets them in a neat row by your closet. He makes his way to your kitchen, gets you a glass of water, then stops in the bathroom. He rummages through your medicine cabinet—you use the same brand of toothpaste as he does, the same type of toothbrush, and Bob marvels at the strange intimacy of learning these things, the everyday things that not everyone is privy to about you. He finds some ibuprofen and shakes two out, then takes them and the water back to you.

You’re already drifting off to sleep, and Bob has to cajole you into sitting up. He gets you perched on the side of the bed and gives you the pills and water, which you take without complaints. He takes the empty glass back from you, and then there’s a moment—

—you sit on the edge of your bed and Bob stands over you, and you look up at him with your bleary eyes and he sees fear. You’re understanding what you’ve done, maybe: you’ve invited a strange man back to your place and you’re drunk, and he could do anything, and Bob sees the flicker of uncertainty, the beginning of fear in your eyes. It makes him feel sick because he’d never take advantage. It makes him sick that the world, being what the world is, makes this fear lance through the whiskey fumes in your head.

He reaches down to the foot of your bed where there’s a blanket neatly folded. He shakes it out, urges you to lie down, and when you do, he covers you up.

“Be sure to drink more water when you wake up,” he tells you softly.

The nascent fear fades out of your expression, and it’s replaced by a loose, goofy grin. You free a hand from under the blanket and give him a sloppy salute. “Aye, aye, captain.”

Bob sees himself out but not before he’s struck with a bit of brave optimism. He sees the little whiteboard by your refrigerator, and he writes out his name and his number. He drives home and sends up a silent prayer that his sneaky-handsome virus has already infected you, charmed as he is by your earnestly drunken (albeit clunky) analogy from earlier in the evening.

He wakes up the next morning and feels less hopeful. He queues up a playlist and sets out on his morning run, but his morning pessimism is misplaced: you call him a mile into his run, and Bob stutters in his steps to hear your voice—a little rough, but sunny nonetheless.

“I’m looking for a guy named Bobby,” you tell him over the phone, and he can hear the smile in your voice. “Lieutenant Blue Eyes.”

-----

The two of you make plans to meet up at the Hard Deck, but you don’t call it a date so Bob doesn’t either. He’s in unfamiliar territory: things have always been a date or not a date in the past, but he’s noticed that many of his Dagger teammates speak in looser terms—meeting up, hanging out—with potential partners. He’s unsure how to handle it; if he seems too casual, you might miss his interest. If he comes on too strong, he might scare you off.

He decides to just turn up in his uniform, as he usually does, and when he arrives at the Hard Deck, you are already there. You’re perched in a bar stool and chatting to Penny, but when he strolls in, you see him.

You smile at him as he walks over to you, but then you shake your head in a mock-rueful way.

“Oh, no,” you say as you hop off of your stool. You open your arms and Bob steps into them, and you hug him warmly like you’re old friends. “I thought maybe it was just whiskey-goggles that night, but you really are cute.”

Bob chuckles. He releases you, then takes the stool beside yours. “Well, I’ve been downgraded. You called me handsome that night,” he points out.

“Sneaky-handsome, actually.”

“There seems to be a whole spectrum here that I was never privy to.”

You wave down Penny who comes and takes your orders. Once your drinks are in front of you—a hard cider for you, a shandy for Bob—you click your glass against his.

“Here’s to the sneaky-handsome men of the world,” you say.

Bob ducks his head and grins “And to the rocket scientists,” he adds.

A date or not a date…the evening passes in a blink, and you leave Bob that night entirely sober after long conversations and a lot of easy laughter. You pull him in for another hug before you part, and this hug lingers longer than the hug you gave him as a greeting. When you pull away, though, you gaze at him with a somber expression.

“I wanted to thank you for the other night,” you tell him. “For being a gentleman when you took me home.”

“Of course.”

“No, I mean it.” Your hands on his upper arms squeeze him a little firmer. “You could have taken advantage, and you didn’t. You’re a good one, Bob.”

He shakes his head, tries to wave you off, but you squeeze him again. You don’t let him shrug off your thanks. You don’t let him downplay his goodness.

“You are a good man, Bob,” you repeat, and you stare at him, like you’re daring him to disagree.

Bob, who finds that you’re something of a force to be reckoned with, wouldn’t dare to disagree.

-----

He’s still not entirely clear if this is dating or not. Neither of you actually says the word. You text each other steadily, and you meet up sometimes at the Hard Deck, but your schedule isn’t great and Bob’s is even worse. He worries that he’s missed his chance. When he talks about it to the other Daggers, Hangman rolls his eyes and tells Bob he should have taken his shot earlier, that Bob is pretty much friend-zoned now, but Nat rolls her eyes at that and says he’s overthinking it.

Of course Bob overthinks it. Bob overthinks everything.

He doesn’t know yet that you overthink everything too. That you are going through your own pangs of regret, that you think you’ve missed your chance too, that your friends circle around you too and give you tough-love pep talks to build up your courage to take the lead on this burgeoning thing with Bob.

And ultimately, Bob’s hunch that you’re a force to be reckoned with is correct. In the end, you take charge.

-----

You end up inviting him over for dinner on a night when your schedules align, and Bob overthinks that too.

What if it’s a date-date, and he turns up too casual, with nothing in his hands—no wine, no flowers? Or the opposite—what if he dresses up a little, brings you a mixed bouquet, and it’s just a casual friends-type thing?

Bob has no idea how he can manage the systems on a sophisticated plane because his brain grinds to a painful halt the moment he starts to contemplate this dinner at your place. It’s Nat—it’s always Nat, with her no-nonsense lens into the mystique of her fellow women—who smacks some sense into him.

“Wear a nice shirt, shower beforehand, and take a bottle of wine,” she tells him.

“But what if—”

“It’s always polite to take a gift, Bob.” She rolls her eyes, heaves a sigh. “And it’s always polite to, you know. Shower. Show up fresh-smelling and neat. Jesus Christ. Just go.”

So Bob turns up at your apartment, a mid-tier bottle of wine in his sweaty hand. Freshly showered, a daub of cologne behind his ears, and a nice blue button-down that brings out his eyes.

And it’s a good thing he took Nat’s advice too, because you open the door in the sweetest sundress, and there’s music softly playing and the most heavenly smells wafting from your kitchen. Bob realizes all at once that it’s a date-date after all, and his heart does an alarming little stutter in his chest, enough to stun him until you take his hand and gently pull him inside.

-----

Part of Bob’s issue with women is his inability to pick up on subtle, sometimes invisible cues. He has always fallen in with the sort of women who play mind games, who play coy and say one thing while meaning another. He always feels back on his heels; it feels like women speak a language he’s only slightly fluent in, so he’s always playing catch-up to translate what they mean.

But it’s refreshing with you, in this moment, because as you both sit down to the feast you’ve prepared, you just talk with him. The two of you chat about your lives, you catch each other up since the last time you’ve talked, and Bob almost forgets to be nervous.

Almost. A pair of tapered candles flicker between you and cast your lovely face in a golden glow, and low, bluesy music sets the soundtrack as you eat. You sip at the wine he brought, and he eats your home-cooking, and Bob imagines an entire life like this…and he almost misses the way you keep swiping your palms along your thighs, like you’re nervous.

Almost. He leans into his WSO work, studies you closely like you’re a dashboard of lights and alarms and switches. He watches you a little closer, and he sees the way your throat bobs when you swallow a mouthful of wine, like you’re swallowing past a lump or going all dry-mouthed on him. He sees the deep breaths you take, the way you press the back of your hand to your neck, like you’re flushed and trying to calm yourself.

“You’re nervous,” he blurts out when he realizes it for sure, and you pause in where you’re lifting the wine glass to your mouth and stare at him.

“I am.” It’s that simple. No mind games, no coy pretending.

“It’s just me,” Bob says.

You smile at him, and it trembles a little at the corners. He can feel the nerves in you now, and he reaches out a hand across the table, palm up. He makes a grabby motion with it until your smile firms up and you lay your hand in his, and he grasps you lightly.

“It’s just me,” he repeats.

“And I like just-you,” you tell him. “Like-like, I mean. I wanted to tell you so tonight.”

His heart does that wicked little stutter in his chest, but he squeezes your hand. “Sounds like you just told me then.”

“Guess so.” You watch him, and your smile seems tremulous again, so Bob replies, “I like you too.”

It’s that simple. After you each put yourself through your own overthinking hell, each suffering through your own sleepless nights and needless worrying about dumb things like friend zones, it comes down to a moment so simple that it’s stupid: just the two of you holding hands as you confess your mutual feelings matter-of-factly.

-----

It feels too easy. After months (years) of struggling to even land the occasional first date, suddenly Bob’s dream girl turns up just like that. It feels too easy, and so Bob slips into his overthinking almost immediately.

It goes fine after dinner, when the two of you trade nervous kisses on your couch until the nerves burn off enough that your mouth slotted over his feels natural, that you move in concert with each other—your head tilting one way, his tilting the other, no longer bumping noses or knocking his glasses askew.

It goes fine as you climb into his lap, the solid weight of you a welcome sensation because Bob’s head feels like it’s filled with helium, drunk and fizzy from the feel of your lips against his, your tongue against his own.

It goes fine when you climb off of him, shaky-legged like a newborn foal. When you hold out your hand and take his to lead him back to your bedroom.

The moment he finds himself stripped down to his boxers and lying on your bed is the moment it falls apart.

It’s like every mean comment, every brush-off and ghosting, every roll of the eyes and beleaguered sigh and overheard commentary about him crowds into the room and leaves no space for this moment with you. Bob thinks of all the feedback he’s ever gotten on dates—the serial killer eye glasses, the lack of muscles, the lack of game. He tries to take a deep breath and finds he can barely pull in a lungful, and his throat feels like it’s closing on him—

And he can’t get hard. His near-erection from making out on the couch deflates, and even though you are perched over him—you’ve shed your sundress, and you’re in the sexiest, sweetest lingerie set, powder pink, like the underside of a cloud at sunrise—he cannot coax himself back to attention.

The panic that floods him—he recognizes the feeling. He’s felt it a million times. He feels the hot, splotchy redness as it breaks out across his chest and neck, and his face flushes furiously bright, and you notice it all in real time. The sultry, heavy-lidded look on your face disappears and is replaced by pure concern.

“Bob? Bobby? Are you…okay?” You reach a hand out and cup his face, and your palm had felt warm earlier but now it feels cool….which proves how hot he’s flushed, how feverish his panic makes him feel.

“I’m sorry. Shit, honey. I’m…I gotta go.” He tries to sit up but your mattress is soft and he flails a moment, and if Bob were just a bit younger he’d burst into tears at how sideways this has all gone so suddenly. You served him up the perfect evening, you’re kneeling right beside him in the hottest fucking lingerie, and he’s been reduced to a stuttering, red-face idiot who can’t even get hard—

“Hey.” You lay your hand on his bare chest, steady him. “Hey, hey, hey. Take a second. Just breathe, Bobby.”

“I gotta—”

“Just relax.” You press against his chest, tap your forefinger against his skin. “Breathe for me, okay? Everything’s fine.”

“It’s not. Fuck, it’s not!” He raises his voice, winces at how shrill he sounds, and the dam in him breaks. Something in him dislodges, and it all spills out: every mean, rotten thing he’s ever thought about himself. Every bit of unfair criticism, every insult and slight and how his own insecurity has twisted it all into a crippling imposter syndrome. How he only ever feels competent at his job but how he struggles with everything else, and now how he’s fucked it all up with you because he’s overthinking, always trapped in the own tangled maze of his mind, always waiting for the other shoe to drop because he’s not good enough, he can’t even get hard even with you looking like a dream—

“Hey. Whoa.” You remove your hand from his chest, but you scoot over to sit beside him, turned to face him, your expression very similar to the night he met you—the same easy smile, the same studious eyes.

“Nothing’s ruined. You haven’t fucked anything up. Take a breath. Is this because of that bad first date you had the night we met?”

He nods. “A little bit.”

“There’s been other bad first dates, I guess?”

Another nod.

“And now you’re worried this is just another bad first date?”

“Yeah.” It comes out a croak, a roughness in his throat.

“Hmm.” You lean forward, press a soft kiss to his forehead. “You wanna hear about my worst first date ever?”

“No, honey, it’s okay—”

“His name was Justin.” Another soft kiss, this one to his temple. “Good job, good looking.” Another kiss, to the other temple, right at his hairline. “Picked me up and gave me flowers, took me out to San Diego’s most exclusive restaurant that has a reservation list a mile long.”

Bob chuckles weakly. “Sounds awful,” he says, wry.

You hum again, kiss his flushed cheek. “He was charming at dinner.” A kiss on his other cheek. “Said all the right things. Asked about my life and listened to my answers.” The lightest of kisses on the tip of his nose, and it makes him smile despite himself.

“Halfway through dessert, a woman comes up to our table.” Bob feels the gentle press of your lips at the corner of his mouth, and he turns his head to kiss you back, but you pull away.

“It was Justin’s wife.” A flurry of kisses now, to his chin, along his jawline, near his ear.

“He was cheating,” Bob says.

“Nope.” A kiss, this one lingering, under his jaw, on his neck. “Turns out, this was a little game he and his wife play. Some weird cheating, cuckolding fantasy.” Your lips skate over his pulse point. “He takes a girl out, his wife pretends to catch them, and then they go to a nearby hotel to fuck each other senseless.”

“Oh, shit.”

“Oh, shit is right.” You lift your head to gaze at him. “Asshole left me with the bill for dinner too. So Bobby….you’re not my worst first date. You’re not even close.”

“Honey—”

“You have no idea how hard you’re gonna have to work to really, honestly fuck this up.” You grin at him, and then you straddle his lap again, and he lays his hands on your hips and stares up at you.

“Because you’re, like, exactly the sort of man I’ve always been looking for. You’re that sneaky-handsome sort, and you’re smart and sweet, and you took care of me that first night when I was too drunk to make good choices.” You cup his face in your hands, and you stare at him hard, that sweet forcefulness on full display, like you dare him to disagree with you.

“It’s already a sure thing, Bobby.” You lean forward, kiss him gently. “There’s no pressure to do anything tonight. Don’t even think about needing to do anything. How about you just let me love on you, and you just relax, and if you can keep your secret wife from busting in and turning this into a cuckolding fantasy, we’ll end the night just fine, okay?”

That makes him laugh, and it breaks the spell of his terrible ruminating. Bob laughs, and he slides his hands from your hips up to your waist to feel your soft skin.

“I didn’t even think of getting a secret wife before I came here,” he confesses.

“See? It’s a sure thing, then.” You lean forward again, whisper in his ear, your warm breath making him break out in goosebumps as you tell him to just relax and let you love on him.

-----

The antidote to Bob’s awful overthinking, as it turns out, is your care and praise.

As far as first dates go, this is the one where Bob learns something new about his own sexuality. He learns, thanks to you, that he has a praise kink, because your hands and mouth and body on his feels amazing, but it’s your words that make him hard.

Loving on him means you touch him everywhere. You kiss him everywhere. You stroke him, press your soft lips to him, lick against parts of him until he feels like he’s on fire in a way that is completely different than his panic attack. You kiss every inch of his face and neck. You trail your mouth over his shoulders and collarbones, across every bit of his chest and belly, and you praise him whenever your mouth isn’t otherwise occupied.

Look at you, Bobby. Hiding this body away under that uniform.

You praise his arms, the muscles of his chest and abs. You praise his shoulders and back, the smattering of chest hair, the trail of hair that leads down and disappears under the waistband of his boxers, and you glance up at him, the question in your eyes as you toy with the elastic.

“Can I?” you ask, and Bob nods, swallows hard, and you go lower, you push his boxers down and his cock is there, hard from your honied words.

“Holy shit,” you blurt out. “Bob, are you for real with this?”

It probably seems like a cliché, like the pretty girl in a movie who somehow never realized she was pretty, but Bob has never really considered his size. He’s been around plenty of other penises through the course of his career, but he’s never exactly eyed up other men and measured himself against them. The handful of women he’s slept with never said anything so he assumed he was average, but you praise him here too—you tell him he has a beautiful cock, and Bob blushes at the compliment. He’d never call it beautiful, but when you wrap your palm around his shaft and grip him gently, he’d agree to any adjective you might offer, so long as you never let him go.

This feels too easy too, but the panic never claws at Bob’s throat again. You’ve chosen him, you’ve made it a sure thing for him, and you’ve cut through his awkward moment of near-flight to get him to this: your body stretched alongside his, your breasts pressed against his arm, your hand working against his cock while you whisper praise in his ear.

And every time doubt starts to creep in—he should be touching you too, he should be making you feel good too—you hush him, you still his mouth by kissing him, and you tell him that he has all the time in the world for touching you, but he should let you take care of him now.

His orgasm creeps up in fits and starts, and it seems to ratchet closer with each bit of praise you lavish on him, more so than each movement of your hand working against his cock.

“I want you to come for me, Bobby,” you whisper against his neck. You kiss his pulse point, a plush, open-mouth kiss that makes him shiver as you grip him tighter, work a faster rhythm with your hand. “Come for me like a good boy.”

He wants to be good for you; he wants to do as you say. Some not-so-small part of him craves your approval, and maybe the two of you will play around with that sort of dynamic in the future, but for now, he just wants to obey you. He wants to do his part to salvage the night he thinks he almost ruined, so he breathes in time to your strokes, focuses on every sensation—the softness of your breasts pressed against him, your wet, hot mouth kissing him, the light scent of your perfume. The tension in his belly is a coil, and it tightens and tightens until it snaps, and his hips stutter against your grasping hand. He gasps out your name, warns you, and then a beat later, he comes. He spills over your hand, thick ropes of cum coating your fingers and wrist, spilling over onto his belly.

“Just like that, baby.” You kiss his panting mouth, and he feels the curve of your lips as you give a pleased smile. “It’s that simple.”

#bob floyd #bob floyd imagine #bob floyd x reader #bob floyd x you #top gun maverick #kinktober 2023 #tropes and tales

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rumor-weed · 9 months

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JOHN MULANEY STARTER PROMPTS

Kid Gorgeous Edition.

“He was a man most acquainted with misery.”

“None of that matters, but it's important to me that you know that.”

“He did not look like his job description.”

“He looked like he should be the conductor on a locomotive powered by confetti.”

“But, instead, he made his living in murder.”

“He was the weirdest goddamn person I ever saw in my entire life.”

“He could look at a child and guess the price of their coffin.”

“Shut up! You're all gonna die. Street Smarts!"”

“You remember the scourge of muggings when you were in second and third grade.”

"Man, I need cash for drugs right now.”

“Okay, you can get these at any haberdashery.”

“Buy a money clip. Engraved, question mark?”

“Hey, Dad. Can I have a silver money clip with a $50 bill in it, please?” (Or sub “dad” for character name, if you’re a coward)

“The man with the mustache told me to do it.”

“Let's say a kidnapper throws you in the back of a trunk.”

“You kids have no upper body strength.”

“Yeah, he was not a "spoonful of sugar helps the medicine go down" kind of guy.”

“Brush your teeth. Now, boom, orange juice. That's life.”

“Fight the guy off using weird, psych-out, back-room Chicago violence.”

“I chewed up a tab of Alka-Seltzer I carry with me at all times. This created a foaming-at-the-mouth appearance that made it look like I had rabies.”

“Now I've thrown him off his rhythm.”

“Okay. Your odds of coming back alive from the primary location, about 60%. But if you are taken to a secondary location, your odds of coming back alive are slim to none.”

“I am 35 years old and I am still terrified of secondary locations.”

“Nah, sister. You're not getting me to no secondary location.”

“I thought I was going to be murdered my entire childhood.”

“Top three colleges? I thought I would be dead in a trunk with my hand hanging out of the taillight by now.”

“I just got a letter from my college, which was fun 'cause mail, you know?”

“So then I had to speed to Goodwill really fast.”

“It was charitable, but it was also fast and violent.”

“I was throwing boxes at people. The boxes were so heavy I couldn't even say what was in them.”

“This one's shirts. I got a bunch of shirts! Take 'em away!"

“How do I write that on my taxes?”

“My mom said it could be a sleep shirt. Please deduct this from my 2017 income.”

“So rather than violate these meaningless politeness rules, I'll just go to bed in a smock like goddamn Ebenezer Scrooge.”

“I'll tremble off to bed in my long Victorian nightgown.”

“Was there ever even a ghost, Mother, or was the dead Victorian girl you saw just me all along?”

“And that's why you shouldn't give to charity.”

“I found out recently that jokes don't do well in court.”

"Hey, that lawsuit with my neighbor is still dragging on.”

“Hey, do you want me to kill that guy for you? Because it sounds like he sucks and I will totally kill that guy for you.”

“Okay. See you at improv practice.”

“Strange, the passage of time.”

“I'm not that old. I'm 35, that is not old.”

“I never knew about this, but I am now gross.”

#ask memes #John Mulaney #kid gorgeous #RP starters #starter prompts #John Mulaney RP starters #John Mulaney starters #John Mulaney kid gorgeous #alter as needed #if I make another it’ll be the new special #John Mulaney ask memes

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hikarry · 3 months

Note

Consider: Aziraphale finding out about the Montero video clip

"Angel!" Oh dear. Whenever he sounded this excited it was never good news. "Do yourself a favor and sit down, yes?"

"Yes. Good morning to you too, my dear."

"Uhum." Aziraphale was not exactly used to being manhandled, but whatever was on Crowley’s mind and was causing whatever frenetic energy this was, made him very inclined to indeed force the angel to sit down on the big chair, holding him by the shoulders and pushing him down very unceremoniously. "I found something hilarious."

"Is that so?" Crowley sat on the arm of the chair, crossing his legs in a probably not very comfortable position, but after 6000 years Aziraphale was of the opinion the demon had not a single bone in his corporation.

With a swift motion he grabbed his phone from his back pocket and typed something quickly. Aziraphale was looking at the phone, more out of politeness than anything else. He had no idea what was going on on that tiny screen.

"Yes." Crowley couldn't help but snort, even though the supposedly funny thing was not on display yet. "It's a song. An oldish one at that, I don't know how I didn't find it earlier."

"Oh, bebop?" The angel let his body relax against the back rest of the chair. "You know you and I have very different tastes when it comes to music."

The demon clicked his tongue in response, quite clearly not paying enough attention to form proper words. He snorted again when he finally found whatever it was he was looking for.

"The song isn't the point. It's catchy, but not my thing." He leaned over Aziraphale, arm against arm, putting the phone in front of both of them. "I will give you 5 seconds to guess what is it we are looking at."

"5 seconds? That's sound a little unfair, don't you th-" Too late, the video had began. Aziraphale actually made an effort to try and amuse Crowley, just this once. There were a lot of clouds and very vibrant colors. Some type of garden with Greek like ruins. "A garden? In Greece?"

"A garden, yes. In Greece, no. Keep watching. Last chance."

The video kept rolling and Aziraphale could physically feel how constricted like a spring ready to jump Crowley was becoming beside him.

"Oh, a snake! It has your colors, doesn't it? Are black and red snakes natural in nature?"

"Focus, angel."

Right, focus.

"It's a big snake."

"Yes. A snake. In a garden. Hm?"

"Yes, I can see it, Crowley. I'm not-" Okay, yes. Snakes didn't usually turns into humanoid creatures. In a garden...gasp. "Is this supposed to be the Garden of Eden?! And you?!"

"No, not me. Inspired by me, more like. But yes! Exactly!"

"The Garden didn't look anything like that. Greek architecture had not been invented back then yet."

"And pink grass had?"

"...Do I show up?"

"Nah. There's enough songs about angels."

"I beg to-." Right, stuff was going down hill. "They...turned you quite sexual, didn't they?"

"Not me. Inspired by me." Yes, details. "And I am the demon of Temptation. What's more tempting than sex?"

"A good Oscar Wilde first edition, for starters." Aziraphale mumbled, but Crowley clearly heard.

"Right. Oscar Wilde. I thought we were talking about me."

"I thought you said it wasn't you?"

"Ngk. Technically not me. Anyway, that's what I wanted to show you. But-" He pulled the video forward slightly. "Let me show you what humans are doing with the imagery of Lucifer nowadays."

"Is he...going to Hell down a pole?"

"You've heard of pole dancing?"

"Yes. Mrs. Sandwich enlightened me." The angel adjusted the glasses on his nose, leaning slightly forward so he could look closer at the video. "Didn't you have some boots like those back in the 80s?"

"Myeah. Similar."

"I never saw you wearing them again. Whatever happened to them?"

"Probably in the flat somewhere. I haven't been female for a hot second."

"Your point?"

Crowley looked down at him, an eyebrow raised in confusion.

"What?"

"Are you saying you can't wear them anymore because you've been male for 4 decades?"

"Well-"

"Correct me if I'm mistaken, but," he pointed at the video. "That looks like a young man to me."

"Hm. Touché."

"What is he doing now?"

"That's called a lap dance."

"He is dancing in the lap of Satan?"

"Maybe he would have been a better boss if he had been given a couple of lap dances between the millennia."

"...is this allowed?"

"I don't see why not. I like the sense of humor." As the video ended, he put it back again on his back pocket.

"I was right. It was bebop."

"As I said: not my thing either." Aziraphale folded his hands on his lap, the movement being closely watched by the demon besides him.

"I see you are still inspiring generations. Humans always did make interesting artwork with your resemblance." Crowley didn't answer. Aziraphale stayed quiet a couple more moments, waiting for him to say something. "Crowley?"

"Yeah. So. Hm." He seemed to have been snapped out of his own thoughts, laying his hands on his knee and slightly leaning towards the angel. "About those boots-"

#dont ask i dont know myself #good omens #crowley #aziraphale #ineffable husbands #aziracrow #anthony j crowley #good omens imagines #asks #anon

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starsfic · 4 months

Note

The "Sugar Honey Iced Tea" reunion between Alex and Marty in Madagascar, but with DogDay and CatNap.

So, the names for the Smiling Critters' kid forms were inspired by @novalizinpeace, who has an amazing Smiling Critters ARG!

The human was trapped. Poppy's "Angel" was trapped, finally.

CatNap loomed, unable to vocalize the delighted meow that scrambled at his throat, instead replacing it with the feeling of Red Smoke crawling up, ready to put them to sleep. He had thought that they would die of fright in Home Sweet Home, he had hoped Miss Delight would bash in their brains, he had thought...DogDay would finish them off. They had all failed.

But he would bring them down, clip their wings, and add their corpse to his shrine-

Wait, why was their green hand sparking like that?

CatNap's answer came in a bright flash, a "HOLY SHIT!" and pain. Pain all over, like he was strapped down with wires connected to all of his skin. The Red Smoke came out and there was "CatNap, don't-" from the human. But it was too late.

The spark had been lit.

The next few minutes scrambled past in a blur of pain, of movement, of seeing the human frantically looking around as if an answer would descend on high. And then it did, his god offering a hand, wreathed in holy light. CatNap reared back at first, fear eating at him. But he was in so much pain-

"CatNap? CatNap, no, no, no, we can fix this-!"

The world went dark.

-_-

Ugh, he felt awful.

He opened his eyes.

Nothing but darkness met his eyes. He sat up, looking around. Yeah, nothing but darkness. He looked down. He saw hands...his? They had to be. They were attached to him, even as they glitched between small human hands and purple cat paws. He could feel his entire body glitch alongside his hands.

Was he dead?

He had to be.

He got up, looking around. The darkness stretched beyond his vision. Was he in Heaven? He didn't expect it to be so dark and lonely. He looked around. What now?

With no other idea, he stared to walk. It was hard, at first, with how his body twitched and slipped between human and cat, but soon he was moving easily. With the new ease, his ears picked up on something.

Voices?

"...now that we're in him, we need to help them..."

"Yeah, but how...?"

"Oh, I have a few ideas!"

He...recognized those voices. Both the human and cat perked up. Yes, yes, they definitely recognized those voices! Elliot had kept his promise after all! This had to be Heaven!

Theo-CatNap turned a corner that was unseen and came to a stop.

There was six of them, gathered around the seventh, all of them glitching between human and animal. The one in the center spoke animatedly, even as he switched between messy dirty blonde curls and fluffy orange ears. "Nell-DogDay-?" he said, voice glitching.

Silence.

All of them turned.

"Theo-CatNap?" Nell-DogDay's voice glitched between child and toy, but he didn't care. He was seeing them, all of them, especially him again. "Theo-CatNap?"

"Nell-DogDay!" Theo-CatNap sobbed, running towards the other boy. Nell-DogDay stepped in between the Critters and took off at a run. "Nell-DogDay!"

"Theo-CatNap!"

"Nell-DogDay!"

"Theo-CatNap."

Huh, it seemed like he was frowning? "Nell-DogDay?"

"CatNap!"

Nope, he wasn't mistaken. And now there was an angry dog running straight at him. "OH SUGAR HONEY ICED TEA!" CatNap let out a yowl and turned, sprinting away.

"GET BACK HERE!"

"NO!"

"GET BACK HERE, I JUST WANNA YANK OFF YOUR LEG!"

"NOOOO!"

"GET BACK HERE THEODORE!"

"NOOOOOOOOOOOO!"

Charlie-Bubba blinked, watching as the dog chased the cat. "I think he forgot we were going to help the angel," he sighed. They were a part of the Prototype now. They could take him down from the inside.

"Nah, he didn't forget," Alba-CraftyCorn said, helping up Callem-Kickin. "Give him a second. Theo will want to be part of this."

CRASH!

"AHHH!"

"...Eventually."

#my writing #Poppy Playtime #PP #CatNap #Theodore Grambell #DogDay #Bubba Bubbaphant #CraftyCorn #The Player #The Prototype #fic #fanfic #fanfiction

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hacash · 1 year

Text

I’ve said before that I think it could make sense that Nate might want to return as assistant kitman for a little bit - to concentrate on being happy, to be one with the guys, to join in with all the team rituals he was barred from in S1. I also think that, going by clips from 3x12 and dialogue from 3x11, it’s not ridiculous to assume that he ended up back as coach, and that the kitman stint was intended as temporary (and likely done at Nate’s instigation).

However, do to that well it really needed a couple of additional scenes, which I can only assume had to be cut to save time...

“Good to have you back, mate,” Colin says, coming up to Nate while the team come together, chatting and laughing over Isaac’s costume. “But what are you doing as assistant kitman? We thought you were gonna be our coach again.”

“Oh! Oh, I know that. But, you know, it was all very sudden, and there wouldn’t have been time to draw up a new coaching contract before the season ended, and I still wanted to return in whatever capacity I could, and I - ” Nate’s cheerful ramble ends, his gaze slides over to where Will is shaking Isaac’s hand, “I had some unfinished business here, you know? Besides, I always enjoyed spending time in the locker room with you lot.”

“Glad to hear it, boyo. But you’re going to be coaching us next season, right? We didn’t trek it all the way over to Tooting just to set you up doing laundry, you know.”

“Hey, I’ll have you know that my fabric softener blend has been much sought after by members of the team,” Nate snarks. “And their mums.”

Colin just looks flatly at Nate.

Finally Nate grimaces, eyes briefly tensing shut. “I…I don’t know; alright, Colin? I just – I didn’t behave well as a coach at all when I was here, and I don’t know if I trust myself to do the same thing again, you know? I don’t think I deserve to be your coach again.”

“Oh, come on, you weren’t all that – ”

“No, no, no, let me say it – that was something I was wanting all my life, you know, and I,” hands flail, “I fucked it up, alright? I made mistakes, and I hurt people, and I just – I’m not sure if I want to put myself back there yet.” Nate sighs, visibly pulling himself together. “Look, for now I just want to enjoy my time here and focus on the last game, alright?”

Colin sighs and huffs, but he nods. “Whatever you say, Nate.” He glances around and lowers his voice conspiratorially. “Look, rules are rules and all, but me and the Honourable McAdoo are gonna split your fine between the two of us, yeah? No need to worry about it.”

Nate laughs. “Well, that’s very generous of you; but if I’m part of the team I want to be part of the team, and I can afford it now – ”

“Nah. Don’t worry about it, boyo. Just some unfinished business, yeah?”

Colin tips Nate a wink and heads back into the group of laughing footballers, leaving Nate watching them all. His eyes travel over the Greyhounds – the team he once said could do anything, his smile broad – and then, as his smile softens, he glances back to the coach’s office. Ted can be seen in the window, talking to someone.

Jolted out of his reverie by someone’s laughter, Nate looks back to the footballers. He laughs genuinely, loudly. When Bumbercatch gestures him into the crowd he joins them, willingly. He’s part of the team.

“No! No, no, no, that’s…that’s lovely.”

“Knew you’d understand.” Ted pauses, smiles. “Mind if I ask you a personal question, Nate?”

Nate’s still blinking back tears, but he manages to muster a deep breath. “Of course, sure.”

“What the heck are you doing back here as a kitman anyhow?”

Nate nearly flinches again, as if Ted has snuck up on him a second time. He looks around sharply, but Ted is just staring up at the wall, smiling.

“Sure wasn’t expecting it, when I came in to see you folding towels again.”

“I just…didn’t feel it was right to return as a coach yet,” Nate says. “It just didn’t seem right.”

Ted looks at him, until Nate blushes and glances down. Finally Ted nods.

“Right, right. Well, I get that. After I came home and found out that my dad died I dropped out of my high school drama club entirely. Kept thinking that if I’d just got home in time that day I coulda gotten him the help he needed, I felt it was only right.” Ted’s words are soft. Nate blinks in surprise, looking at him carefully. “Just landed the role of Kenickie as well. Heckuva thing, could have landed myself a career on Broadway rather than Richmond.” He smiles. “I just wonder…what would have happened if someone had pointed out that I was just wasting time punishing myself, you know? That it wasn’t helping anyone to deprive myself of something I loved, least of all me.”

Nate bites into his lip. He’s trying not to cry.

“Right. I…I think I understand that.”

“I knew you would, Nate. You’re a smart fella.”

Another pause.

“I just need to think about it, Ted.”

“Well, you’d better think long and hard about that sucker,” Ted says. His eyes crease gently. “After all, after this week there’ll be a space going free on the coach’s team for someone with plenty of smarts and a big old heart as well. I can’t think of anyone better for the job.”

Nate visibly softens as he looks at Ted. “You’re really going back, aren’t you?”

Ted pauses. His eyes flicker back up to the space where the poster used to hang, and then a tender smile deepens. “Time to go back, Nate. I didn’t know how much longer I could take, not being with my little boy.”

Briefly Nate hovers, and then touches Ted’s elbow. “Yeah. Yeah, I get that.”

“Aren’t you going to stand up with the other coaches, Nate?” Will asks as they sit together, awkwardly watching eleven grown men openly weeping on the pitch.

“I’m the assistant kitman,” Nate murmurs absent-mindedly, already chewing on a thumbnail. God, he’s nervous. “To. Assistant to the kitman.”

There’s a pause. He glances across to see Will glaring pointedly at him.

“You get a better view from back here anyway,” he adds weakly.

“Uh-huh,” Will says, not sounding particularly convinced.

Throughout the match Nate is on the edge of his seat, almost straining at the bit. Unable to join Roy, Beard and Ted standing on the sidelines. Not quite part of their group, but not in amongst Will and the physios and the reserves either. Eyes fixed on the Richmond team.

Whenever the Greyhounds miss a pass or take a tackle Nate winces. Halfway through the second half Ted turns and sees a notebook has appeared in Nate’s hand: he’s jotting down notes without even taking his eyes off the play. Ted smiles to himself, and then turns back to the game.

When the additional seconds of time are added Nate’s on his feet: still not joining the coaches, notebook still in his hands. Staring onto the pitch as if his life depends on it. Nate’s eyes are flickering as Roy and Beard debate the merits of trick plays - murmuring beneath his breath, brain going into overdrive, and then – oh. Ohh.

Realisation dawns on Nate’s face. On Ted’s face. Their gazes meet.

“Oh my God,” Nate says softly. Half a whisper, half elation.

“Yep,” Ted is going – grinning, already beckoning Nate to come forward. “Yep, yep, yep, yep, yep – ”

“You sure that – ”

“Yes.”

“You really think it’ll – ”

“Yes! Hey, hey Jamie!” Ted hollers for Jamie’s attention and then mimes handing something over to Nate. “It’s an Oscar!”

“Or a Tony Award!” Nate hollers. He’s grinning.

He knows where he belongs.

#ted lasso #ted lasso spoilers #my fanfiction #nate shelley #theodore lasso #will kitman #colin hughes #ted lasso deleted scenes series

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kanmom51 · 1 year

Text

JK 'Seven' Campaign Behind-The-Scenes Film

Hey all, coming a little late to the party here, but hey, it's the weekend.

Basically JK is gorgeous.

End of post.

Nah.

Not really done, although there isn't too much to say about this clip.

One thing we got was JK in a white singlet, which is one more parallel to JM's Face photo shoot campaign.

One more piece just falling into place.

Oh, and obviously we all saw this too, right?

You know, the mud on the pants.

Mud that happened to be all over JM's Like crazy MV.

Was JK also walking through the mud? Together with JM? Is that what JK is telling us? Just in case we didn't know who these lines were meant for:

Every night you spin me up high

The moon that embraces you

Let me have a taste

Give me a good ride

Oh, I'm fallin', I'm fallin', I'm fallin'

Oh, it's gon' be a good night

Forever you and I.

And the spikes.

Let's talk about the spikes a second.

Yes, they both have the spikes. JM on his actual skin, JK on his jacket.

I had a little interesting back and forth with @ffjj5 about this.

JM's spikes on his skin representing inner struggles, finding a way to be happy in his own skin, to find his real self and accept both his masculine and feminine sides. @ffjj5 bringing this up. How possibly it was his own skin that was the cause of most of his pain.

On the other hand, JK's spikes are on his clothes. And my thoughts were perhaps JK's spikes are on the outside, because the for him, the struggles were external. JK, the golden maknae, the one that at 15 was front and centre. the one with "the best voice", the one that BTS cannot do without, the one that literally EVERYONE had the highest of expectations of.

So JM was dealing with internal struggles - spikes on the skin.

And JK dealing with external demands - spikes on the jacket.

JM dealt with some of these issues during Covid and this came to be in Face.

And with JK, well, we've kind of seen him fighting back lately, perhaps his way of dealing with some of these external demands.

Oh, and did I mention the song playing in the background during JK's clip?

Just another coincidence?

Anyway, I love how every single thing JK does is thought out. Might not be that our interpretation is the one he was thinking of, but 100% there is a reason for every single thing he does.

One good thing coming late to the table is that I get to see what others are talking about before I open my big mouth. And well, how people twist every single thing they can when it comes to JM and JK.

How people take the "JK being JM's copy cat" and twist it all around to JK stealing JM's ideas? Plagiarism? Really?

Let's start with what plagiarism actually is:

Before people go open their mouths, maybe better they go check what the meaning of the words they throw around mean.

Did JK ever come out and say this was all his idea?

Did JK even talk about the photo shoot, the concept, the ideas, how he came up with them, and why he chose them?

Of course he hasn't yet.

So how the hell is this plagiarism?

The day JK says "this is all my original idea, omg what a surprise, didn't even know it looks so much like JM's", then fuck them haters, maybe then they could open their disgusting mouths and say that word. But see, that day won't come. So for now, they need to stop talking shit.

Did we forget this?

or this?

Now, this one isn't about JK stealing JM's ideas like some want others to think. It's about JK looking at JM, seeing him as someone who inspires him. Someone whom he admires. I saw @roo-bastmoon use the term muse, and I agree. JM is JK's muse.

So, the way I see it is that JK is mirroring JM.

Like I said, every single thing JK does means something. It's well thought out. The outfits, the muddy jeans, the silver rings, the spikes.

So, instead of seeing JK doing this, showing up styled so very similarly to JM's Face campaign, inspired by JM, mirroring Like crazy, not copying it, honouring it in his own way, people are taking that and making it out into idea theft.

The way JK is underestimated by this fandom surprises and angers me every single day.

Oh, and btw, JK's morning concert on GMA is sold out. Surprise surprise.

Oh, and one more thing:

Please don't hate me for this.

Yes, he's damn adorable, but please, that hair style... no more... Please.

#Junkook #JK #JK Seven #Jikook #Kookmin #Minkook #Jimin #JM #JM Face #JM Like crazy

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whorhees · 1 year

Text

Ghost From Your Past {Creed III} Pt. II

Adonis x wife! Oc x onesided! Dame

Summary: Jade and Dame hang out one on one since he’s been out. Jade is trying to avoid dwelling on the past but it’s so hard not too

Authors note: I have no clue what rode I want to travel down with these two. I have so many ideas but oh my god I’m trying to decide what’s right.

“Hey”

Adonis looked up at the girl standing in front of his desk, a finger pressed in the middle of it. “What happened last night? Did Dame win?” Adonis took a shaky look up at her, unsure of what to say. “Uh…Yeah. He did” Jade smiled as she pulled up a seat. “He’s so amazing, ugh I just know he’s gonna flaunt it when we hang out later” Adonis nodded his head slowly. He really didn’t have the heart to break it to her.

“Why don’t you like talking to me anymore?” Jade tilts her head as her finger circled his desk. “We use to talk all the time” Adonis scoffed. “You mean I use to talk all the time? You never talked” “That doesn’t mean I didn’t listen or studied you” Adonis picked his head up to stare into her green eyes. “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” Jade flinched at his harsh language. “It means…I can tell when something is on your mind…” Jade reached into her bag and pulled out her yellow pen.

“Remember how I use to draw on your arm to relax your mind?” Adonis nodded and extended out his hand, unclenching his hand as jade gently grabbed his arm. Her thumb ran on the crease bicep and arm, tapping the pen on her desk. “You don’t have to tell me now, but you gotta tell me something” Jade began to outline something on his forearm. “So?”

“I’m sorry…”

Jade didn’t want to get out of bed, she wanted to hide from him and her obligations. She scrolled through her phone, her friends all texting her simultaneously.

Sierra🌸

Yo, did you see ykw?

Sev 🎈

Yo nigga came around askin bout you

Sekani 🎧

Bro is that really Damian???

Jade threw her phone back against the pillow, groaning. “Ugh…” She sat up and stretched, turning to look at the bright blue sky. She had things to do, she can’t just hide from the past in her room. Sudden vibration was felt on her bed, and without a second thought, she reached for her phone and answered.

“Hey”

“Hey Jade”

She paused, cursing herself mentally for not checking the caller ID. “Who dis?” Jade stood up and walked out toward her window. Her hip cocked to the side as she stared out at the city below.

“Oh, it’s uh me. Damian?”

Oh.

“Oh!” Jade laughed awkwardly. “How did you get my number?”

“I asked Seven for it when I met back up with him”

Of course, Seven did. He never respected her wishes once she took off. “Ah. Well, it’s good that you have it now. How are you Dami?” She could hear him chuckle through the phone.

“I’m good peaches. Listen, is there a chance for us to hang out together? Diamond and Precious again?” Jade sucks her teeth, rubbing the side of her neck.

“If you don’t mind coming along to pick up the twins with me”

“Nah! Of course, I don’t mind!” Jade smiles and walked into her closet. “Where do you want me to pick you up at?”

“No, I’ll come to you. I’ll be there in twenty” Dame hung up, and Jade placed her phone on the seat in her closet. It shouldn’t be a big deal, he’s an old friend. She went through all her clothes, pulling out her black tracksuit. She walks out of her closet and threw the tracksuit on her bed. It was her favorite one that Adonis had bought her, it had his first name embroidered in cursive small while the butt of the pants had his last name bedazzled in huge letters.

She grabbed her towel and ran into the bathroom to get a quick shower.

“Okay, that’s it…” Jade grabbed her clip and pinned up her braids halfway. Nothing too much, she still looked great. She grabbed her purse and walked up out of her room. She could hear the knocking from downstairs. Jade finally stood at the door, opening it to reveal Damian.

“Jesus, I was out there for five minutes” Jade rolled her eyes and moved the man down the steps. “Not even. Come on, I gotta pick the kids from school” “Oh, I get to run errands with you now?” Dame chuckled as Jade locked the front door behind her. She walked down the steps to her car, turning to the man who still stood at the top of the steps. “You comin'?”

“…Yeah” Jade unlocked her car door and climbed into her truck. “Damn, you sittin real pretty up there” Dame got into the passenger seat. “I thought you would have a butler driving you around” “Nah, I like doing my own things too much.” Dame nodded as they finally pulled out of the gates house.

“Are you still adjusting to change?” Jade asked, side-eying the man in the passenger seat. “Yeah, especially between us three you know?” Dame lets out a sigh as he looked at all of the mansions passing by. “Listen, I appreciate you visiting me for the time that you did while I was gone” Jade stops at a red light. “I thought…I thought it was really fucked up what the court did to you…”

“Twenty years?!” She stood up with tears in her eyes, and her father had to pull her back down before she busted out in tears again.

“You know what’s funny? I wanted to become a lawyer because of you…but when I did study, and try, I could never. I was never smart, like…” Jade laughs as she turns once the light turned green. “I could never pass the bar test. I tried sooo many times” Dame stared at her as she rambled on. “Hold on…You went to law school?”

“Yeah..? I mean the modeling thing was a way for me to pay for everything. But it kinda took off so, I guess I shifted focus after my third attempt at the exam” Jade puts on her blinker and turns into the circle of the school where all the parents were lined up in the area for their kids. “Wow, I…” Dame was at a loss for words, things he didn’t know about the girl. “I appreciate it. I’ll pay you back”

“By?”

Dame grins, placing his hand on her arm. “By winning the belt. Like I told you I would” Jade pulled up at the front of the loop, unlocking the doors for Honey and Blue to climb in. “Dame…I’m just worried for you” She turns in her seat towards him. “You know, we’re getting old. And, fighting like you use to-“ “I fight the same.” He interrupted, turning his head towards the window. “Take hits hard, Punch harder” The twins came running to the car, Blue helping his sister get in before he got in himself.

“Hey! How was your day babies?” Jade smiled looking at the visor mirror at her children. “Good, honey had a good day” Blue smiled, and soon turned to look at the man in the passenger seat. “Do you want me to drop you off at the gym?” Jade asked as she pulled out of the school circle. “Yeah, I promised him I’d be there at a certain time”

Jade began driving to the gym, the rest of the ride was in silence for the most part. “Oh uh, Adonis is having this party and it’s going to have our old friend Bianca presenting a new song. You down to come?” She turns onto the busy street, the gym was right up ahead. “Of course! What, I gotta wear something nice?” Jade laughed and nodded. “If you don’t have nice clothes, I can get you some if you want” She pulled into the gym parking lot.

Dame grabbed his bag from between his legs, gazing over at Jade once again. “You’ve always been a sweetheart. Look out for yourself, and your mini-mes” He climbed out of the car and closed the door. She watched him enter the gym and sighed. She turned around to look at her kids, Blue had an irritated look on his face. “Mom.” “I know Blue, just…” Jade sighs as she pulled out of the parking lot. “Just give him a chance, he’s nice”

“Does Dad really like him?” Blue asked, he had slight annoyance in his voice. “Yeah,” Jade answers quickly. “They were…are! Best friends. Like how Nathan is your best friend” Blue didn’t say much after that, leaning on his sister’s shoulder. Jade tried her best to be transparent with her kids, but it’s difficult when she tries to bury a past of bad choices that are coming to light. She blinks, did she call dame a bad choice?

To her, he was never a bad choice. She loved him deeply, she still does. But it’s different, she’s married, a mother. But…

She isn’t ready to cross that road

#x black oc #black oc #black writer #creed iii #adonis creed #damian anderson #dame creed iii #adonis creed x reader #adonis creed x oc #michael b jordan #jonathan majors #creed #damian anderson x reader #diamond dame #self insert #black characters

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harryforvogue · 11 months

Note

ok this thought just came to meeee: it’s the early days of faye & harry dating and mentions that his birthday is this week and inside faye is screaming because why didn’t he tell her??? but on the outsides she’s calm and collected lol. so she bakes him a cake and maybe gets him a small gift like a sketch book/pencils or a keychain with his favorite animal or show character or of CHERRIES ?????? and she casually asks to stop by after work cause she thinks she left a hair clip at his apartment she needs but she’s actually there to spend his birthday night with him 😌

"This isn't stupid," Faye reminds herself under her breath as she enters Harry's building. "This isn't stupid. Harry is your boyfriend now. You have the right to do this. He won't mind."

Timothée is the one that answers the door. He’s holding a sketchbook in his hand, a pen tucked behind his ear that's nearly covered by his curls. “Oh. Hey!” He looks at the box of cupcakes she’s holding. “Wow. Those for me? Ha. I'm just playing."

Faye and Timmy have had the “this isn’t weird right?” talk already, so this encounter isn’t the worst.

“Hi. Um, Harry’s here, right?”

“Yeah. He’s in his room. Should I call him out?”

“Uh. Well, I guess I probably should have texted…”

Timmy smiles knowingly. “You wanna see him? You can come in.” He then glances down at her tote bag filled with a makeup bag, extra clothes, and other things.

She scratches her wrist. “If…if that’s okay. I’d just like to let him know something.”

“It shouldn't be a problem. He doesn’t have work today. Come in.”

During the 10 seconds that Faye walks in and takes her shoes off, she asks Timmy if it’s really fine that she’s here without notice at least 3 more times. He’s gathered that she plans on staying the night. The good thing is that he seems to have an infinite amount of patience. He even takes the cupcakes and sets them in the fridge.

“This is okay, right?” she whispers as they head to the rooms.

Timothée grabs her shoulders and gives her a small shake. “Hey. You’re a strong woman, yeah? No reason to be nervous.”

Faye stands taller. “Yeah.”

“You go in there and show him who’s boss!”

“Yeah!”

“You go and break his heart and stomp on his dreams, yeah?”

“Yeah! Wait, what?”

He grins. “Are you not going to go and break up with him?”

“What? No!” She gasps. “Is that what it looks like? Why would I bring cupcakes just to break up with him?” She scrambles to take her phone out. “I should text him.”

“Nah.” He snorts and then laughs. “Sorry. I couldn’t help it. Hey, you’re already here so just go in. He won’t mind.”

He heads back to his own room after giving her an encouraging thumbs up, shutting the door behind him. She walks to Harry’s room slowly, taking deep breaths to calm herself down. She knocks quietly.

Harry doesn’t come up to open the door. He just calls through it “Come in”. And so she does.

She steps in, nerves exploding in her stomach. He’s pulling a sweatshirt over his head in front of his closet when he sees her, curls wet from his shower, his eyes immediately lighting up. His laptop is on the bed and she can see he’s been answering emails.

Harry’s face breaks out into a smile. “Faye!” He walks over to her and wraps his arms around her. “Hi.”

She hugs him back. “I hope it’s okay that I’m here.”

“Of course it is. How are you? You look great. What’s up? Everything okay? Did Timmy let you in?”

“Yeah!” After a moment of hesitation, she gives him a quick peck.

Harry gives her a pointed look. “I’m your boyfriend now, Cherry. Give me something a little better than that please.” He puts his hand on the back of her head and pulls her back in. He kisses her again, slowly. She slides her hands up his soft sweatshirt and plays with the drawstrings. “I haven’t seen you since last week so I thought I’d surprise you.”

He chuckles. “Bet you nearly chickened out a few times.”

Her shoulders fall. “You have no clue.”

Harry takes her hands and pulls her to the bed. He tugs her until she’s sitting in his lap, his arms around her waist again. “You know, given the timing, I’m suspecting this has to do with the fact that it’s my birthday.”

“What?” she says. “No. I’m only here because I forgot something.”

“Oh yeah?” Harry twirls her hair around his finger. “What did you forget?”

“My hair pin.”

“Definitely.”

She sighs, leaning into him. “Listen. You should have told me about your birthday earlier! I had zero time to get reservations for dinner anywhere, and not to mention I had work today! This isn’t fair! Now it’s 4pm and we’ve done nothing for your birthday.”

Harry’s grinning as she complains. “Sorry.”

“You’re not sorry!”

“I’m not. Birthdays don’t have to be a whole thing, you know?”

“This is our first one!”

“Faye, I really don’t think it’s that big of a deal. We can do something over the weekend together. You’re off then, right?”

“Yeah,” she grumbles.

“So there. We’ll make a day of it.”

She frowns, playing with his drawstring again. “But today’s your real birthday so we have to do something.”

“What do you have in store for me?”

“Well, I’m staying over tonight. If you’ll let me.”

Harry grins even harder. “And where are all your things? I really hope you don’t plan on using my toothbrush. You’re cute and all, but–”

She scowls. “I left my bag outside just in case you say no and kick me out and also break up with me.”

Harry throws his head back and laughs wholeheartedly. “Wow. Oh yeah, I’d totally break up with you for wanting to stay the night.”

“It was more of the whole not-letting-you-know-beforehand thing.”

“That’s what a surprise is, Faye. You know I don’t mind surprises when they have to do with you. I’d love for you to stay the night with me.”

“Good.”

His eyes sparkle when she leans down to kiss him again. He loves when she initiates the kisses, knowing how much it means to her to be confident enough to. “I also got you a present,” she mumbles against his mouth.

Harry buries his fingers in her pink hair, cradling her head as he kisses her again. “Yeah?”

“Mhm.” She turns her head so he can kiss her jaw. “You didn’t give me enough time to freak out for a few days before buying you something with a leveled head, so it might not be that great of a–”

Harry cuts her off with another kiss. “I’ll love it,” he promises quietly. “Anything you give me.” He kisses the corner of her mouth. “Hey. Timothée’s going out tonight with his friends so he probably won’t be home until tomorrow. Did you plan that?”

Faye blinks. “No, but that works out very well.”

“Right.” He kisses her once more. “Faye. I’m very happy you’re here.” He kisses down her neck. She shivers, his wet curls hitting her cheek.

He flips her over, pressing her into his mattress. She laughs as he hovers above her, kissing her neck and collar, the tickling becoming too much.

When Harry’s hands start wandering under her sweater, she opens her eyes and stops him. “Wait. Can I give you the gift first? Before I chicken out?”

He pulls off. “Of course. Want me to wait here?”

“Yes, please.”

“Yeah, baby. Go on.”

Faye hurries back outside and grabs her bag, bringing it in. She carefully pulls out a wrapped gift, bringing it over to him. He’s sitting on the edge of the bed looking very deliciously disheveled.

“Just to let you know,” Harry says, “if I don’t like this gift, I’m breaking up with you.”

Faye frowns. “Not funny!”

He smiles and begins to rip the wrapping paper. Faye nervously cracks her knuckles besides him, watching his eyes wander over his gift.

“Faye,” he whispers.

It’s a photograph of them taken by one of the photographers at the first show of Faye's that Harry went to. The one where Harry confessed his love. This picture is of them on stage, Harry in his suit still holding the bouquet of carnations, his hand on Faye’s cheek. She’s on her tiptoes, the smile on her face so wide, it’s unbelievable.

He remembers exactly what he was doing – wiping the glitter off her face right before he kissed her. He recalls how she was literally bouncing with adrenaline. He had to hold her still just to kiss her properly. Harry’s heart aches.

“I only saw it a few days ago,” Faye explains nervously. “Figured it would be a great memory to frame.”

“This… this is…” He looks up at her. “Thank you. Wow. Look at us. Look at you. I loved that dress on you so much.”

“You told me you loved me for the first time. I think about it everyday, Harry. I’m so happy there’s a photo of us from that night.”

He puts the frame down and brings her back to him, hugging her tightly. “I love it.” He smiles when she relaxes into his chest at the sound of the words. “This is amazing. Thank you, Cherry. Thank you.” He kisses the top of her head. “Oh, I don’t know how I’ll ever top this. You’ve made it very difficult.”

Faye’s laughter is muffled against his sweater. “You still have time. I won’t spring anything on you like you did.”

Harry lifts her head up. “I love you,” he whispers again, bending his head to kiss her once more. “Thank you.”

She smiles. “So I guess you won’t be breaking up with me tonight?”

His shoulders shake when he laughs. His thumb brushes over her cheek like in the photo. “No, baby. Not ever.”

#squidward holding his music sheet meme #that's how i feel #BUT THIS HAS BEEN MY FAVE ONE TO WRITE SO FAR!!!#harry and faye #harry styles fic #harry styles blurb #harry styles fluff #let it be known that harryforvogue does indeed write still

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goron-king-darunia · 8 months

Text

Eggtober 15th 2023

"Minutia" Air Fryer Fried Egg with Berries.

(Clip Studio Paint, Gouache Brush, Air Brush tool for the pepper. 17 colors, 2 hours with breaks.) I kind of just blacked out and worked until it was done with remarkable focus? The ADHD hyperfocus is real. I would have gone back and put the extra reddish shine on the blackberries to do the reflective light from the strawberries, and would have done the strawberries in a more meticulous way but I started getting hungry and was like "Nah, this will take too long. Gotta find a shortcut. Not sure if the meticulous 2 tone approach for the little pits on the strawberries where the seeds are is worth the time it takes but I do think that when I do that right it looks much better than the "just shade it like a matte object, then as a shiny object, and then carve the little pits in with the dark base color and then plop the seeds in" method. Key phrase being "it looks better when I do it right."

A labor of love, honestly, I knew from the moment I first saw the reference that I loved the colors and shine and the organic textures all working together so I knew I simply had to draw it for one of my Eggtober entries.

One problem with my method is if my reference is too big or I need it big to see more detail, I forget it's there and so when the final composition time happens I realize "Oh. I need to add in more strawberry. And I thought I was done... Yeesh. So yeah, enjoy me realizing at the last second "either I cut off one of my stellar blackberries or I have to draw more of this strawberry" when you watch the speedpaint. XD

@lady-quen's breadbugs will have lots to steal in this piece. Strawberries and blackberries are very portable!

And, as always, praise be to the Egg King, @quezify.

Can you tell that rendering the blackberries was my favorte part? So round and shiny. Hopefully the surface of the strawberries doesn't trigger anyone's trypophobia.

#Eggtober 15 2023 #Eggtober 2023 #Fried Egg #Strawberries #Blackberries #my art #art by GKD #me blacking out and conjuring shiny berries from the ether like little jewels:#''hehehe shinyyy''

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xbadgerbearx · 1 month

Text

chapter 7: light

word count: 1.6k

Sonata in Darkness: [6] ... [8]

There was no speaking between the two of you as you parked your motorcycles. You didn’t have to talk—it was like you could read her thoughts. Checking the clip in the gun that she took, she put it back into her bag after inspecting the rounds. Getting off the bikes, you undressed out of your catsuits, revealing your work attire underneath. Selina slipped on her wig that she had with her in her bag, taking only a few seconds to smooth it down. You made your way inside.

“Can you tell Mr. Falcone I’d like to come up?” Selina asked the man guarding the elevator door. He jerked his chin to the side and made a dismissive gesture to her.

“She can go, you stay. He ain’t seein’ nobody tonight,” he said, waving you forward.

“Tell him it’s about Annika.” The man straightened his back, his face darkened. Mumbling into his ear piece, he finally let you both pass. Mr. Falcone greeted you both when the elevator doors opened to his floor.

“Heyyy, look who it is, huh?”

“Sorry to bother you, Mr. Falcone,” you apologized, placing a kiss on his cheek as you met him halfway.

“Nah, it’s fine, gorgeous. You’re always welcome, you know that,” he chuckled. “And please, it’s Carmine to you.”

“I was hoping we could talk to you for a minute?”

“Absolutely.”

Selina eyed the other men in the room. “Alone?” He snapped his fingers and everyone cleared. He led you both into the lounge area to sit.

“What’s this all about, huh? You need somethin’? Cash?” Falcone sat across from the two of you. “I’ll get you anything you need, doll.”

“Actually, Mr. Fal—Carmine,” you gave him a weak smile. “My friend is worried sick and I didn’t know what to do, so I brought her to the only person I thought could help…” Carmine had a sly look on his face as he leaned closer.

“Oh, is that right? Well you came to the right place. What you girls need?”

“We can’t find Annika anywhere. It’s like she just disappeared!” you exclaimed, faux tears in your eyes. Carmine leaned back into his chair. His face dropped for a second before he replaced it with a carefree facade.

“I’m—I’m just so worried,” Selina choked out, letting out a few fake tears of her own. “I don’t know where she is. I know you’re a very important man from what she’s told me—“ Selina gestured to you, “—and I was hoping you could help me find her. I mean she’s been gone so long, I’m starting to think she might be…” Selina let out a few sniffles as you patted her back comfortingly. “I’m sorry…” You looked at Falcone with pleading eyes.

“It’s okay,” he said. “I understand. Here.” He offered her tissues but she declined.

“No, that’s okay, I have a tissue.” Selina slowly reached for the gun in her purse as you distracted him.

“Thank you so much, Mr. Carmine. Nobody knew anything or wanted to help—“

“Mr. Falcone?”

“Vinny!” Falcone yelled at the man who interrupted. “Didn’t I tell ya?”

“I’m sorry, Mr. Falcone. I really think you’re gonna want to see this.”

Falcone looked back at you. “I’m sorry, beautiful,” he apologized. “I’ll be right back so we can continue.” You and Selina gave each other a hardened look as he walked away into another room. So close.

The voicemail that Annika had left Selina could be overheard from where you were sitting. As if empowered by her voice, Selina carefully strided over to the man, gun pointed. You placed yourself behind the wall, hidden from the men’s view, ready for whatever was about to happen.

“Hey, Dad?”

Falcone turned around to see her, mildly confused and surprised. “What?”

“I’m Maria Kyle’s kid…You remember her?”

“Yeah…Just—just put down the gun, honey—“

“This is for my mother.” The gunshot echoed as all the lights shut down and were replaced by shadows. The only thing to illuminate anything were the lights from outside peering in.

Quickly sneaking into the now dark room, you lunged for the guard that was about to attack Selina. With a yell, you managed to jump and wrap your legs around his neck, choking him. Selina went after Falcone as you fought the guard. More gunshots fired, each round making you jump in your skin. When you were finished with the man, you ran into the other room to see another fallen guard and Falcone choking Selina with a pool stick. Grabbing one off the table, you hit him in the back of the head as hard as possible. He shouted and got off of her, coming for you. Selina gasped for breath, blindly reaching around for the gun that was knocked away.

“You bitch!” Falcone yelled as he lunged for you. Dodging, you dealt him a few blows yourself and even managed to leave a nasty scratch along his face. “I’ll kill you!” He sent a powerful kick to your legs, sweeping you off your feet. He was on you instantly and wrapped his hands around your throat. “You made me do this, sweetheart. You were my favorite! You’re making me do this!”

“Help—“ you choked out, suffocating. Struggling, he had a hard time keeping his hands around your neck, but he managed. Your mind froze—this has happened before, hasn’t it? Instead of Falcone above you, digging his nails into you, the image of Batman with his own hand around you appeared instead…just like he did at the mayor’s house. Black was creeping into your vision as you let out shallow gasps before Falcone was harshly pulled away. Your eyes squeezed shut in anguish as you coughed out.

Your savior, the caped crusader, immediately reached for Selina and aimed her gun away when he noticed she was about to shoot. “He has to pay!” she shouted.

“You don’t have to pay with him.” He assured her. Selina, crying, looked at Batman. “You’ve paid enough.” She relents and drops the gun, defeated and emotionally drained.

Batman was by your side in an instant, cradling you. He tenderly brushed his fingers against the marks on your neck made by Falcone. “Rat?” The way he said it reminded him of how he called out to you over the contact lens camera system: pathetic. Vision blurred, you recoiled quickly after seeing who it was, weakling pushing him away.

“Please,” you pawed away at his hands, trying to get them away from your head. “Not again.” His eyes held a great sadness in them as he instead held you closer, moving his hands from holding your head to your lower back, waiting for you to calm down. Struggling more, your breathing quickened as you flung your hand towards his face. His hand caught yours quickly and held them firm against him. He looked anxious, eyes searching over your body for more potential damage as you calmed down. Realizing the situation after seeing Carmine on the ground, you raised yourself to hug your dark knight. He wouldn’t hurt you again, right? You were soothed as you felt him let out a heavy sigh into your hair.

“Please,” he whispered into your ear. “Don’t scare me like that, please…” Gingerly, he helped you up, arm wrapped around your waist.

Reluctantly, he let go when Falcone started coming to his senses. Picking him up roughly, he led the man through the club where onlookers watched with curiosity. You and Selina followed.

“Jesus,” Carmine laughed. “Look at you. Whattaya think this is? You think you’re gonna scare me with that mask and that cape? I’m gonna start crying, and all of a sudden some big secret’s comin’ out? Let me tell you something?” Carmine stopped walking and leaned in close to Batman. “Whatever I know, whatever I’ve done, it’s all going with me to my grave.” Batman shoved him forward and into the hands of Gordon. “What, you with Zorro over here? Don’t you know you boys in blue work for me?”

Gordon took him outside to reveal the dozens of police officers waiting to arrest him. “I guess we don’t all work for you.” Gordon read Carmine his rights as another officer handcuffed him. “Do you understand?”

Carmine looked straight at you, almost admiring your tears and the marks he left behind on your neck. “Yeah,” he turned back to Gordon. “I’ll see you when I walk out.”

“Goddamn rat.”

“What’d you say?” Carmine asked Oswald.

“Enjoy your night at Blackgate, Carmine. Probably be your last.”

“Oh-ho! So you’re a big man now, huh, Oz?’ Carmine scoffed.

“Maybe I am,” Oz challenged.

“Really, Oz? Because to me, you were always a gimp in an empty suit.”

Oz reached into his jacket, pulling out a gun. “I’ll spray paint your ass!” A single shot fired and Carmine hit the ground. The crowd roared as officers tried to get a handle on the situation. Oz was tackled to the ground. “I didn’t shoot! I didn’t shoot!”

You walked over to Batman as he hovered over Falcone, watching him take his last breath. You spat on his body, satisfied. Batman, however, looked above him to see the flickering street light. “Bring him into the light,” he muttered. “And you’ll find where I’m at.”

“There!” An officer yelled. “The shot came from up there!” Following where the man’s finger pointed, you saw an apartment window open with a gun pointed out. No one was there.

“It’s Riddler!”

Majority of the officers left Carmine’s body to get to Riddler; only a few stayed back. Selina strolled over and stared at his body for a bit. Also satisfied, she linked arms with yours and walked away. “Let’s go home.”

You made it to your motorcycles in silence. The only thing you mumbled after putting on your helmet was ‘Karma’s a bitch’ before returning to your apartment.

#sonata in darkness #reader #reader insert #batman x reader #the batman 2022 #battinson #the batman #batman

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yeehawbvby · 2 years

Text

Falling Away With You | Ch. 10

Sebastian x F!Reader and M. Rasmodius x F!Reader

Rating: Mature/Explicit

Chapter Summary: Seb infodumps on you a little. Also, tension go BRRRRRRRR

Author’s Note: I'm sorry in advance for the way I formatted text messages. Tumblr's editor is hard and I gave up.🧍

Edit: Messed with the texting portion again. It's still sloppy, but hopefully y'all like it better. ^^"

Table of Contents + Work Summary

Check it out on ao3!

Prev | Next

At least Seb isn’t pushy, I’ll give him that. Sure, he’s awfully present today, but he hasn’t done anything to make me actually uncomfortable. I enjoy spending time with him, hormones and confusion and all.

I finish straightening my hair relatively quickly, and decide this look isn’t complete enough without a necklace. I grab one from my drawer — a black leather choker, with a faux pearl in the middle — and clip it around my neck. I take a deep breath, and march back out of the room, ready for whatever sweet or sexy Seb is going to hit me with this time…

Aaaaand he’s gone.

I still smell tobacco, though. I step out onto the porch and see exactly what I’d hoped and expected.

“Your breath is probably gnarly right now,” I half-joke.

“What, you don’t think morning breath, coffee and cigarettes mix well?”

I shudder at the thought. “Y’nasty…”

He takes me in for a moment, wordlessly. Making me feel all shy. “Your hair looks nice today,” he dreamily grins.

I mutter out a wimpy thank you, playing with and inspecting the ends of my hair. I should trim this soon, it’s getting a bit dead.

Seb leans against the banister and runs his fingers through his own messier tresses. I’m seeing his forehead for the first time, and it doesn’t disappoint. I wonder if he’d ever wear a headband or hair clips.

“So,” he blows out some smoke, “since you haven’t kicked me out, I’m gonna do it myself after I finish this.”

“Lame,” I respond, trying not to sound as disappointed as I feel.

“What, can’t get enough of me?”

He sounds so cocky… no, I can’t, actually, you mother fu— actually, y’know what? Kill ‘em with kindness, they say.

“No,” I smile.

He smiles too, widely, almost looking sort of giddy. A faint blush forms across his cheeks.

“What?” I laugh, leaving my spot near the steps to lean against the same railing he’s occupying.

“I just… didn’t expect that.” He looks down at the cigarette between his fingers and continues, picking the nail polish on his thumb. “You’re sweet.”

I ruin the moment, playfully elbowing his side. He nudges me with a hip bump.

Until he finishes his smoke, we don’t say anything. Neither of us are fans of sun, but we seem to be basking in it. Together. Well, to a certain degree. As long as I have a hand up to block some light from my weak sensitive baby eyeballs, I’m solid.

Once Seb’s finished, he walks to the steps to put it out in the dirt, and then fucking pockets it. Can’t that still potentially burn a hole? Whatever. I’ll order an ashtray for when he’s around here. He walks down the stairs and heads to the right, towards the backwoods that’ll take him home.

“So uh,” Seb says loud enough that I can hear, walking backwards so he can see me. “See you in a bit?”

A bit? I nod calmly, but can’t control the smile I break into. It’s fucking rad that he wants to be around me just as much as I want to be around him. I lean onto the banister closest to him, trying to seem cooler than I feel, as I respond.

“You should come back once you’re, like, decent or whatever.” I hope I don’t sound too desperate.

He stops, biting his lip and looking to the sky, seeming to think about it. “Nah. I have work to do.”

Oh. Aw…

“ You come to my house,” he demands.

Oh!

“Yeah, sounds good, dude.”

“I’ll text you when I’m ready, yeah?”

“‘Kay.”

He waves and turns around, I wave and watch him leave for a second in disbelief. If there’s anything I distinctly remember him — and, like, everyone else — mentioning, it’s that he prefers to be alone. Like, he really values his privacy.

What’s making me the exception to that? It’s not like I’m anything special. Sure I look decent, I guess. Decent enough that I’m a hot commodity in the valley as we established earlier. But that’s just eye candy. Does he really just feel that safe around me, that we can just vibe so easily together? That shpeel of his yesterday, about feeling cozy around me… it wasn’t just a fluke?

I grin at the thought. Turns out, it’s nice to feel valued. Who knew?!

While I wait for Seb to get ready, I’ll eat something and get started on some more designs for Mooncrest. Feeling antsy, I go for a walk to the saloon for some takeout instead of cooking. I grab a caesar salad with avocado and a soda, tip and thank Gus, and head back out.

I immediately feel something hard bounce against my leg upon exiting.

“Ow…” I mumble. I look down, and there’s a gridball rolling down the stoop and away from my feet.

“Sorry, beautiful.”

Oh dear god no…

I ignore the apology, looking over at the creep slowly approaching me. “Hello, Alex.”

There's always one or two dudes from everyone’s graduating class that never seem to leave their hometown. Bragging about being on varsity lacrosse or whatever when they’re going on 20, even 30. Hitting on local teenagers and young-looking adults alike, because of that weird BaReLy LeGaL fetish so many men seem to have while being in denial of their own rapid aging. Wearing old merch that screams their school spirit will never die.

Alex is that guy.

“I guess I need to work on my form, huh?”

I fake a laugh and hum my affirmation, readying myself to walk away.

“You excited for summer?”

Bro.

“No, not really,” I flatly answer.

“Yo, you’re wild,” he laughs, “summer is the best.”

“Different strokes for different folks, I guess.”

“Yeah. Funny you say stroke, I’ve been working on my backstroke over at the bathhouse.”

“Very cool, Alex.” My voice is absolutely dripping with sarcasm. He apparently has no idea.

“I can show you sometime, maybe you could come to the beach with me.”

Pass.

“We can work on our tans together, don’t want to look all pasty!”

I like pasty. Wait. He’s still talking?

He gasps, eyeing me ravenously. “Do you have a bikini?”

...Ew.

“Why don’t we make these plans another time,” I lie, wishing to spew out all the rude things I’ve been thinking while he rambled to me. “I’ve got some stuff to do.”

“Oh, right! I’ll see you around then, gorgeous!” he winks.

I sure hope not!

I swiftly turn on my heels and walk back towards the farm, feeling icky after that interaction. Alex seems nice at face value, but something just seems so off, so… nasty, about him.

When I make it home, Cannoli greets me by throwing up a few leaves next to my feet. Hello to you too, fucker. I carry him to his indoor water bowl, hoping he’ll rehydrate, and then I quickly clean up his little mess.

Yoba’s sake, I wanted to get some planning done before going to Seb’s. Coworking is nice, but I don’t know how diligent he’ll actually be. Will we really just coexist and do our jobs in the same room together, or is he gonna be goofy? What if I’m the one who feels goofy? Coding takes a lot of focus, though. He wouldn’t invite me over to hang out while he works if he minded the company.

Maybe I’m overthinking... I’m sure I’ll be fine.

After planning some ways to lay down a path and deciding where to put my animals when that time comes, my phone buzzes.

Sebastian > i don’t smell anymore

< thank yoba

< see you in like 20?

Sebastian > fuck you lol

> sooner

< what? why?

Sebastian > wanna see you

< ha, gross

Sebastian > -__-

< ;)

< omw

Sebastian > good girl

I squeak, blush, and feel my entire body heat up instantly as I read that last text. Great, he unlocked a praise kink I didn’t know I had. If he ever says that to me out loud, I’m going to melt on the spot. And now that he’s aware of the effect he has on me, he’s gonna love that shit.

I happily flap around my hands a little bit to shake out the nerves and the horny, shove the last few bites of salad into my mouth, and prepare to head out. I grab my satchel and throw in it my unopened Joja Cola, my supplies, and whatever I had stashed in the fanny pack I used yesterday.

Next, I slip on some black Vans, but stop myself from leaving, realizing I forgot something. Gotta give Cannoli his ritual goodbye pets. Because I’m not a monster.

__________________

“Hey (y/n)! Have a good walk?” Robin greets me from her desk.

“Yeah, I’ll never get tired of the views around here!” I hate this sort of small talk.

“Of course, me neither. What can I do for ya?” Right to business! It’s like she read my mind. Guess the spirits are feeling okay today.

“Nothing for now,” I say, walking to my usual spot across from her. “I’m actually here to see Seb.”

I rub the back of my neck, hoping she doesn’t react. It’s different seeing her now that I know her “plans” for us. I feel a little more on-edge.

She smirks. Oh god. Robin and Seb don’t resemble each other very much, but I can see exactly where he got that look from. She leans over the desk, looking like she’s ready to make a deal or some shit. Very Godfather-esque.

“Sebby’s taken quite a liking to you, hasn’t he?”

I shrug. “I hope he has. Would be kinda awkward hanging out with him if he didn’t,” I nervously laugh.

“Mhm,” she grabs her wooden mug — did she make that herself? — and takes a sip, eyeballing me. “You two have fun last night?” she interrogates. I squint at her and feel a blush creep up on me instantly. “I just want to know what you two were up to! No judgment!”

“I mean,” I shove my hands in my pockets and fiddle around with the fabric, “he walked me home, played with Cannoli while I made him some hot chocolate, and we fell asleep watching a movie. Nothing too fun or exciting.”

Robin hums. “Ok, ok, sounds like a good time… anything else?”

Robin narrows her eyes, with the same menacing grin on her face that her son sometimes shoots my way. She looks like she wants me to say more.

I’m noticing now how odd it is that I’m friends with a mother and son duo. She wants some hot gossip about my night, as any friend and lower-middle-aged woman would. I get it, truly. But at the end of the day, she’s my crush’s mom, for fuck’s sake!

“Robin.”

“(Y/n).”

I lean in and lower my voice, hoping her husband and daughter won’t hear from their lab across the hall. “Are you trying to imply that you think I had sex with your son last night?”

She matches my volume, “I’m just sayin’, he could do a lot worse!”

“Robinnnnn!” I desperately whine, facepalming. She snickers to herself. I point at her in the same way that some people point towards their dogs when scolding them. “We didn’t.”

She snaps, “Drat.”

I tilt my head to the heavens and groan.

“Mom,” I hear a velvety voice say from behind me. Thank fuck he’s here.

“Sebby.”

“What are you doing?”

“We’re just catching up a bit, right (y/n)?”

I look between the two of them, as they await my answer. I see Robin’s signature, mischievous eyebrow waggle and opt to focus on the tall emo boy.

“Please help me, Sebastian.”

Robin continues her calm, yet maniacal, laughter. Seb sighs and puts an arm around me, directing me to the basement, mumbling something to his mother about shutting up. I can’t help but laugh with her, honestly.

“She was doing so good at not openly shipping us, at least around me… then one night together, and bam! She thinks we’re fucking.”

“Oh my god,” he plainly responds, closing his door behind him.

“Encouraged it, even,” I add.

“Oh my god! It was that bad?”

I haven’t looked at him, but his amused malcontent is evident in his voice. I break into a full-blown giggle fit while nodding in response, as I put my things down on the couch adjacent to his desk.

“Your mom actually brought up something I’ve been thinking about,” I tell him.

“You were thinking about fucking me, (y/n)?”

Yeah, and I’ll do it again, I think to myself.

I flop down next to my bag. Seb removes his hoodie, revealing a little midriff in the process. Mmmmm. It’s followed by a white shirt with black sleeves, which he immediately rolls up to his elbows. This is a great look on him. He seats himself next to me.

“Ignoring that question,” I softly elbow him. “What I was going to say is that for such a so-called loner, you seem to like being around me.”

I do a little shimmy as I reach for my phone, curiously about the time. That reminds me, does he actually have a half-naked photo of me on his camera roll now, or was that a bluff? I’ll have to ask about that.

“Yeah, I guess I do.” He’s so precious when he’s being sincere. “I feel like I can be myself around you.”

“Can’t around Sam?” I inquire, unable to stop before I realize how nosy I’m being. I mentally smack myself in the face.

He sighs, heavily.

“I dunno. Sam goes crazy if he’s alone for too long. He DMs me almost every day, begging me to go to his place.” He leans his head back and closes his eyes. Sweet Yoba, he has a nice neck…wait no, not the time. Focus, (y/n)! “Doesn’t care if I’m working with a deadline or something, because he doesn’t think I have a ‘real’ job. I like having him around, but it’s a bit much sometimes.”

“Bummer… Abby?”

He scoffs. “Not anymore. That girl has no boundaries.” Wow, really? Haven’t noticed! “She’s nice, but she just doesn't take no for an answer. I could say I’m working, sick, anything and she’ll stop by anyway and complain about being bad at Prairie King, or about how bored she is. Like, no shit, dude. If I'm working I can’t exactly entertain.”

He leans up and starts picking at his nail polish, seeming to get angry just thinking about it. I guess this might be what peeved him so badly, when he caught her staring me down at the saloon.

“And then my mom gives me shit for being a bad friend and rejecting their plans with me all the time, or sitting at my computer too much, because she probably doesn’t think my job is real either.

And then I catch shit from Demetrius because I’m not as accomplished as his daughter. Because he loves to ignore the fact that I’d easily be totally independent from him by now if I’d entered the corporate rat race. Yoba forbid I get successful doing anything else. If I leave this room I’m being harassed by fucking everyone, obviously that would make me aversive towards people.”

As I nod along, I silently hope that he feels better ranting about it, considering I accidentally started this. I can only do so much to take away all this shit he’s dealing with. I start playing with a stray thread on his sleeve, not really noticing that I’m doing it until he shows that he does. He seems to lean a little bit into my touch, and so I lean onto his arm, still twirling the string around between my fingers.

“Sam seems like a good guy, and Abby…” I pause, trying to be careful with my word choice here. “I dunno. She’s nice? I guess? I… dunno. But I definitely get those weird and clingy vibes from her.” He nods. “And you know I’m pretty close with your mom… sure she’s made comments here and there, but she thinks you turned out decently and she tries to ‘get’ you, I know that much.”

Seb tenses up, and I put my other hand on his arm. Fuck, it just occurred to me that trying to be kind towards them probably just sounds like I’m “siding” against him.

“Look, I don’t like talking badly about people even in a context like this. Feels weird… But, I know for certain that it isn’t great that you have all these people in your life that care about you, and yet they don’t respect you. Or at least your job, and your social battery. Regardless of how good any of their intentions might be, that sucks.”

He eases up a bit. Phew.

“You’re the one experiencing all this. So it doesn’t matter what your friends, or your parents, or any other people living in this stupid little town think. In the end, Seb, you’re the one who’s being put down and hurt. I’m really sorry you have to deal with that.”

He takes a moment to process things. I hope he needed the validation; that I didn’t cross a line by interrupting his rant to give my own two cents. I just sorta selfishly wanted to help.

“I appreciate that a lot, (y/n)… thank you,” he responds, resting his head atop mine. “I wish they would apologize though, you know?” he quietly admits. I nod in response. “They really just think I sit here and surf the web all day. Everyone thinks my friends are more productive and valuable than me, just because they leave their rooms more often than I do. It fucking hurts, (y/n).”

I don’t know how to respond without sounding like a broken record or getting too sappy, so I give his arm a little hug. I have an inkling of a feeling that touch is his love language, just based on our interactions so far. I hope I’m right, because holy shit, he’s comfy.

“Using my body again, huh?” I can’t see his face but I know there’s a cheeky grin on it.

I pull away, about to argue that it isn’t my fault he’s a wonderful pillow. But before I can say anything, he wraps his arm around me and pulls me to his chest.

He whispers, “Sorry for shoving all of my shit at you like that, out of nowhere. I didn’t mean to, I just—”

“Don’t worry about it,” I cut him off. “You don’t need to apologize. I’m really glad I can be here for you.” I sink into his chest a bit further. “Thanks for trusting me, Sebastian.”

He gives me a tiny squeeze, and chuckles. “Full-naming me, huh?”

“Shut up…”

I can hear and feel his heartbeat on my cheek, which in turn rushes the beating of my own. His pulse seems pretty steady, for such an avid smoker. I put my hand on his lower belly to play with yet another loose thread. Must be an old shirt. His heart quickens its pace. I giggle, knowing that I have that sort of power.

“Hm?”

I reach up, placing my palm against his chest. “Your heart…”

It goes a little bit faster as I point it out. Heh, I like this game.

“Whatever…”

I chuckle and I look up at him, meeting his gaze, which I didn’t even know was on me ‘til now. How long has he been just watching me up there?

Oh fuck, it’s like that moment with Sam again. Seb is just inspecting me. And I feel just as calm as that night on the beach, but so much more giddy. I ball up the part of his shirt that I’m touching into my fist, stimming my butterflies away the best I can.

I study Seb’s profile, since the opportunity basically presented itself on an obsidian platter.

His eyebrows are thick, but well-kempt. He has perfect cheekbones. A few light birthmarks scatter around his skin, just like on the arm that was draped around me this morning. He’s got long, dark eyelashes framing his blue, almost purple eyes. And his lips aren’t thick, just average-sized, I guess, but they’re nice. So nice.

They look so soft. This is my first time smelling his “normal” breath. The scent of his cigarettes lingers, because of course, but it’s spearminty otherwise. Sweet, almost.

I wonder if he tastes sweet, too.

Sam pussied out of kissing me, and I was thankful. I didn’t really want to kiss him, nor did I want to deal with the baggage of it. Seb, on the other hand…

I’m pulled from my stupid little fantasy when Seb wets his lips and smirks. I shudder at the sight, but not without realizing I’ve been staring at his mouth for such a hot minute. Fuck.

I lower my eyes and reposition, my face and ears hot, and mumble a quiet “sorry.” This earns a laugh and some light head rubs from Seb. I still wish that wasn’t so comforting…

I feel myself dozing off a little after a few minutes of snuggling against his strong heartbeat, but manage to jolt myself awake.

“Oh god damnit,” I yawn, standing up to stretch.

“Hm?”

“Mm'sleepy.”

I grab the soda from my bag and crack it open, promptly downing it. He laughs at me, then checks his phone.

His phone…

Hm…

Oh!

“Hey,” I try to sound serious as I sit on the couch, up on my knees so that I can level myself with him. He looks a little surprised, but tickled. Haha so funny, local sMoL bEaN tries being assertive! Ugh. “Did you actually take a picture of me in my underwear?”

He chuckles, but doesn’t answer, directing his focus back to his device. I’m about to try and regain his attention, thinking he’s ignoring me for shits and gigs. But then, he holds it up. And there I am, in all my unclothed glory... I do look kinda spicy from that angle, not gonna lie, but that’s not the point!

“Oh my fucking god,” I deadpan.

“Yeah? What’s up?”

“Why?”

“You told me to,” he states, giving me that evil grin again.

I nod and suck my bottom lip to process this. “Cool! Delete it?”

“If you want me to, sure.”

“I mean,” I cross my arms and plant my butt onto the cushion next to him, my body twisted to face the left side of his. “Why would you need it, now that you’ve… proven your point, or whatever the fuck.”

He inhales deeply, but holds that stupid, devilish, punchable smile, and turns his body towards mine.

“Do you want the honest answer, (y/n)?”

…Fuck.

I’m entranced by the dark smolder he’s giving me. I wanna hear him say what I think he’s going to say, what I hope he’s going to say, no matter how embarrassing it might feel. I nod my head and mutter quietly, smirking, wanting to match his energy the best I can. Confidence is key.

“Yup. Full truth.”

“Well.”

He leans in just as tantalizingly close as he did this morning, in my bed, trapping me against the arm rest. He’s blushing wildly, but I can tell he’s loving this. He knows he’s a tease, and it’s been confirmed he enjoys being one. And he knows I do as well.

“You’re ridiculously sexy…”

Oh my god. He’s leaning in more, and his lips are literally grazing mine as he speaks, but not quite closing the gap. The sensation is making me squirm.

“…and I don’t know if I’ll ever get to see you like that again,” he continues bluntly. “So I wanted something to look back to, just in case.”

Oh no.

Parroting his sly comment from earlier, I narrow my eyes. “Were you thinking about fucking me, Sebastian?”

He pulls away a little to snort back a laugh. His eyes locked onto my own, he nods, and then murmurs, “Yeah, I was.”

I can’t form words so I just let out a breathy laugh in response. I lean my forehead up onto his, roll my eyes shut, and grab a fistful of his top in each of my hands, groaning. It feels as if I’ve just done a workout, and this will help me recover.

Reactively, he cups my face in his hands. He is absolutely destroying me. I want him so badly, but we’ve never even kissed. This is, like, fast, no? Maybe not. Ugh. I want to kiss him, but I don’t have those sorta balls.

But like… wow.

“Seb?”

He hums curiously, but I don’t even know what to say. I just want to say his name. Over, and over, and over. I just shake my head, and he seems to accept that.

We continue to observe each other, up close, rubbing noses, still refusing to close the gap between our mouths. Teasing whatever’s to come next, if anything comes next. There’s nothing stopping us from just fucking kissing already, but we’re both content as is, intoxicated off of each other.

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chidoroki · 1 year

Text

182 Days of TPN - Day 75

Chapter 75: “Unyielding Reed”

EVERYONE SHUT UP, the best Emma is here! AAHH, words can’t describe how much I love her in this outfit. Hell, I have a separate tag dedicated to it. And all the lovely artists who create such beautiful fanart of GP Emma have my enteral gratitude, especially since the second season denied us of ALL THIS.

I love how impressed Sandy & Zack are of her shooting skills. It’s honestly kinda scary how good she already is despite only becoming familiar with guns a few days prior when she first left the shelter. (I know the target only shows one hit, but since there’s three “bangs” in the previous panel, can I assume she fired three shots and just hit the bullseye on each one? because that would be amazing.)

I actually really like Sonya in that darker jacket she has in the flashback. And I’m only realizing now that it’s Paula & Pepe who are the ones dodging Nous & Nouma’s attacks.. aahh what brave souls, getting that close to the enemy just to gather information. Another reason to love them.

Mmmm okay okay, for the longest time I was kinda salty (like the tiniest bit you can imagine) that Yuugo ends up firing that final shot against Leuvis because I thought it would’ve been so badass if that was Emma’s kill instead, but I’m reminded now that it was solely Leuvis (and not any of the other poachers like I mistakenly thought of) who was responsible for killing off Yuugo’s entire family, so yeah.. perfect case of revenge for our bunker dad. I’m more okay with it now.

Pfftt, I’m glad everyone can agree this demon is insane.

Killing off a whole family just so he could feel that hatred of the lone survivor.. this psycho resembles Itachi. No wonder I like him so much. (see! having Crispin voicing him would’ve been PERFECT). But yes honey, Leuvis is definitely trying to pull the same trick on you. At least he’s nice enough to give Palvus head scratches.

Gillian with her many patches and Pepe being a proud chef!

Violet slapping other people with affection as usual.

The whole “staying strangers” bit of this reminds me very much of Isabella & Yuugo and how they handled dealing with the children. With death being a common occurrence in this world, it’s ideal to stay detached from everyone, saving yourself from becoming emotionally invested so if/when the time comes where someone does die, their death wouldn’t break you emotionally as well.

“Tomorrow” huh? That’s wishful thinking.

The poachers must’ve heard Emma being so ambitious about a possible hunt tomorrow and said nah, how about today! RIGHT NOW!

Favorite panel/moment:

OH INDEED!

Self-imposed rule aside about not rambling on about extra pages because I MUST chat about this one! It is just so damn PRECIOUS how the girls take care of her and set her up with THE OUTFIT. And OF COURSE we got Sandy being a total sweetheart and gifting her the hair clips to help hide her missing ear. I really wish they all had more scenes with Emma throughout the story.. they’re just so adorable and it gives me many warm and fuzzy feelings about how quick they accepted her into their little GP family.

#the promised neverland #tpn manga #182daysoftpn #chidoroki used chatter

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cuuno-moved · 2 years

Note

It’s cold in the desert at night. Jimmy’s known this for a while now.

He pulls at the Arrow’s reins, and Tango makes a face at him, but Jimmy points up at the setting sun, and for him, that’s that.

“Why’re we stopping?” Tango asks.

“It’s gonna be cold in a minute. We won’t get back to the ranch in time, so it’s better to start up a fire here.” Jimmy points at a nice little cove surrounded by rocks. “We can set up over there.”

Jimmy leads Arrow over to the little area, and he can hear the clip-clop of Tango following behind. It’s not a great place to sleep, but Jimmy brought two sleeping bags, and there’s a pretty good rock for them to tie the horses to, and Jimmy has a flint and steel in his back pocket - so it’s not as though the whole thing is gonna be miserable.

Setting it all up is pretty quiet, with Tango tying up the horses and watching Jimmy start up a fire with dried bushes and his flint and steel. There’s a pretty sweet sound of awe from Tango when the fire really starts going, and Jimmy just blinks as Tango shoves his whole hand in.

“I’ve never seen anyone make a campfire without the proper supplies,” Tango says, voice quiet and impressed.

Jimmy grins. “Something you gotta learn when you’re the sheriff of Tumble Town. Maybe I can teach you when we get back?”

“That would be pretty cool,” Tango agrees. “Got anything fun for us to do before we konk out?”

Jimmy rummages through his pack and pulls out three bottles. “Two of water and one of whiskey, if that sounds like anythin’ up your alley!”

“Oh! Oh, yeah, yeah, I wouldn’t mind a drink.” Tango grabs a bottle at random, takes a sip, then gags. “Ah, I thought this one was gonna be water.”

Jimmy laughs. “Come on then, take one of the others!”

“Nah, nah, I can take it.” Tango puffs out his chest, laughter bubbling out of his lips. “I’m a big man, y’know?”

“For sure, for sure,” Jimmy agrees. “Hold on a second, let me see if I have anything else.” He shuffles through the pack again, then gasps. “Oh, hey! I thought I lost this!”

“Oh? Oh? What’s up?” Tango’s swapped out his whiskey bottle for water, which is good, because Jimmy was kinda scared Tango was gonna drink it all.

Jimmy pulls out his harmonica with flourish. “This guy’s been mine for a long time, but I guess I put it in this bag a while ago and forgot about it? I can’t actually play, but it was a gift, and-“ he chuckles. “A gift’s a gift, you know?”

“A gift’s a gift,” Tango agrees with faux solemnity. “Can I try it though? Is that okay?”

“Yeah, man!” Jimmy offers it over, and picks up the whiskey bottle for himself. “Play us a song!” He drumrolls on his knees, and Tango laughs sheepishly.

“I dunno if it’s gonna be that good. But uh- hey, I’ll try!” Tango brings the harmonica to his lips and tries a couple notes, just getting the feel for the thing. “Okay. Okay, I think I’ve got it. Any songs you know?”

Jimmy blanks. “Uh. I dunno. Cat? Is Cat a good disc?”

Tango nods. “Yeah, yeah, let’s do Cat! Uh, not the first part, cuz I don’t think I can switch notes that fast, but-“ He laughs nervously. “Uh, yeah!”

He hums the first bit to himself, all, “dun-dun-na, dun-dun-da,” and then when he’s gotten the feel of it, he starts to play.

It’s not good, is the thing. Jimmy has heard Oli before, and despite his nervousness about playing, he knows that Oli is a musician. Before he stumbles, his music is great!

So yeah. Jimmy knows what good sounds like, and he knows that Tango’s harmonica skills aren’t it. But there’s something heartfelt and personal in the way that Tango stumbles back and changes his mind on the note. In the way he laughs into the harmonica and turns it into a weird sound. He isn’t nervous, here. Just silly. And there’s something so endearing about it that Jimmy-

“Okay!” Tango laughs. “That’s enough of the worst version of Cat you’ve ever heard. I’m gonna try something else. Uhhhhhhhhhh, any other requests? Oh! Oh, wait, I want to try and see if I can-“ Tango starts playing around with noises again.

Jimmy leans forward, resting his head on his knees, and watches, taking slow sips from a bottle. It’s his waterbottle sometimes. It’s their shared whiskey sometimes.

“Okay, I think I got it. You’re obligated as my rancher to say that this is cool, if you recognize it,” Tango tells him. Then he brings the harmonica to his lips, and out comes the notes of their horn. It doesn’t sound just like it, obviously. It’s a harmonica, and Tango doesn’t know how to play it great, but it’s no less their horn.

“Tango!!” Jimmy gasps. “That’s so- that’s so cool- that’s so smart!”

Tango laughs, then dips into as close to a bow as he can while he’s sitting. “Thank you, thank you, I aim to please.”

He’s giggling again, then, and maybe it’s the little bits of whiskey through the night, or maybe he’s tired, or maybe this has been a long time coming, but Jimmy sighs, muffled by the hand pressed to his cheek, and says, “Can I kiss you?”

Tango stops laughing, but the fire that forever roars on his head sparks higher, and some part of Jimmy forgets to be embarrassed. Forgets to backtrack. Just takes in Tango being here, in his world, where there’s no fear of dying forever or of reds or of their ranch burning down again - they’re safe, and it changes so much about them, but it doesn’t change their… Whatever they have. It doesn’t change the way they feel.

“Uh,” Tango says, and he’s put a hand over his mouth, as if it’ll cover the blush on his cheeks. “Yeah. Yeah, I think you can.”

So Jimmy shuffles closer and tugs on the bandana around Tango’s neck - the one he lended him after they became team rancher all over again - and Tango leans in, and, well. You know what they say. There’s the smell of whiskey on his lips, and Jimmy thinks that maybe this is the touch he was looking for.

OUGHOUGHHGHGOIGHFHHHOGUUHH OGUHDSIDUHF

#long post #tangotek #jimmy solidarity

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navree · 1 year

Note

What do you like about Criston Cole? I can’t bring myself to enjoy him but to be fair, that might be the writers. (That Beesbury death was so silly). He’s just kinda there for me rn, but I wanna try and understand his character some more.

No the Beesbury death was so fucking dumb they really went with the stupidest option they should have just allowed for a full Mushroom and had him tossed out the window it would have been less dumb.

Criston isn't my favorite character (that's probably Alicent with a spot reserved for Alys when she makes her glorious debut due to my love of her book version) or even my favorite male character (probably Aemond with Aegon as a close second), but there are things I enjoy about him. I like that he's a new kind of character we didn't get in GOT and haven't gotten a lot of in HOTD, that he's lowborn and has had to rise through his own merits and what that represents. I like that, when the writers aren't doing their whole berserker rage thing, he does seem to have a pretty even keel under pressure, like with Daemon on the bridge and at Driftmark. I also like his relationships with other people, like Alicent and her kids and honestly even with Rhaenyra, I thought it was sweet before it all went to shit.

This might sound ridiculous considering his fandom interpretation (and I'll get to that) but I think one of the things I like the most about Criston Cole is that he seems to be a genuinely nice person. Even in his first appearance, the tourney, he's willing to offer a hand to Daemon and wave away their fight as sportsmanship and be a nice person, he's the one who notices that Rhaenyra's feeling out of sorts about Aegon, he makes her feel better after the Jason Lannister thing and comforts her about her fears on whether she'd be accepted as queen, and he does try along with Alicent to make the conversation between them more at ease (he doesn't do the whole "no I need to be stoic" thing some others might do when she gives him her little seat pat invitation, he just sits down with her). He clearly manages to forge a strong relationship with Alicent's kids and take on a parental role with them, even though it wouldn't necessarily give him anything in return, because these were clearly lonely kids neglected by their dad who needed a paternal figure to latch onto and he was willing to provide that.

Crucially for me, Criston also has a pretty ironclad honor system that ties into his genuine niceness. He decides to take the onus for his night with Rhaenyra; he could have easily said that she was the primary instigator and he would have been correct (even though as I said this morning I consider Criston an entirely willing participant), but instead he doesn't try to deflect or say it wasn't that bad, all he asks for is a quick death because he knows he broke the rules. He is clearly horrified by what he did to Joffrey even in the heat of the moment, considering that he was literally willing to kill himself, and he also clearly has limits, like not taking Luke's eye because he could see more clearly and rationally than Alicent in that moment (no shade on Alicent, I don't know how ANYONE could be rational if this was happening to their kid). And Criston's most maligned moment, his scene with Rhaenyra aboard the ship, comes from that similar honor code, the fact that he is genuinely trying to redeem himself in the best way he can think of and is upset, bordering on heartbroken, to realize that he might have screwed himself over for someone who didn't understand him or didn't respect him (because if you're Criston, you think "oh wow I've sinned mightily the only way to not be damned for it is marriage" and the person you're talking responds with "nah I don't wanna do that with you, but we can still sin if ya want" reads as clearly being thought little of, and that can hurt).

Criston's been horribly flanderized because this fandom has a really dumb tendency to take exactly one five second clip and act as if that's the core thesis to an entire character and refuse to look at things like context and character traits and just general storytelling and then will run that clip and the jokes they can make about it into the fucking ground, which is how we ended up "Crispy Cole the incel" (even though "having sex and then having a bad break up and then deciding you don't like the person who broke up with you" and "misogynist who blames his inability to get laid on women as a whole and hates them and wants to see them brutalized on a societal level" are actually two ENTIRELY DIFFERENT FUCKING THINGS wow who knew). But looking at what we've seen of him, Criston is reading to me as a sort of proto-Jaime. Both of them are knights who aspired to knighthood because they believed in the classic stories of chivalry and honor and decency, and both had the rug pulled hard out from under them and forced themselves to adapt, though the differences lie in how they adapted, with Jaime deciding to embrace being what people saw him as, due to the fact that his defining deed, which he did out of love for his family and desperation to save a million people, was misinterpreted and maligned, while Criston's clearly seen his experience with Rhaenyra as a warning to be less soft and to harden his heart and no longer misplace his loyalties to people who won't value him. And if we can extend grace to Jaime for how he reacted after he was labeled Kingslayer, I think we can afford some grace for Criston too.

All in all, I think he's a decent person who is just trying to get by and trying to abide by his own code and live a life he feels is valuable and worth living, alongside his determination to protect the people he cares about (primarily Alicent and her children), and that's the main draw he has for me, along with his relationships with others and not only how his story can go, but the perspective it can give us in a world where we more often hear from highborn nobles than commoners who clawed their way to earn their positions.

#personal #answered #anonymous #criston cole #y'all are so mean to my boy he's like one of the least problematic men in this entire fucking show #man this really has been the day for analyzing criston hasn't it #also his berserker rage thing is just dumb i think it's bad writing #but there's a fair amount of bad writing in this show i suppose no one could hope to be exempt

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